


Caprifexia the Beneficent, Saviour of the Multiverse

by Carmin71



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Magic the Gathering, World of Warcraft
Genre: Adventure, Dragon Planeswalker, Gen, Humor, Humour, Planeswalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmin71/pseuds/Carmin71
Summary: All Caprifexia wanted to do was take over and possibly destroy the world. But after her brother sends an assassin to kill her she finds herself in a totally backward land where no one seems to realise how important she is.Aided by her trusty if somewhat impudent minion, she sets out to build an interstellar empire, commit mild arson, and prove herself Deathwing's true successor.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	1. An Expedient Tactical Retreat

Caprifexia, last true daughter of Deathwing, Queen of the Black Flight, rightful Aspect of Earth, and dragon whelpling of twenty two months was having a bad day.

It had started well enough, with her crawling from her strategically clandestine headquarters and catching a rat to eat in the nearby grassy mountain meadow. After sating herself with the fruit of her successful hunt she had returned to her base of operations and read one of the books on magic she had managed to salvage while relocating to thwart the 'adventurers' who had sacked her home and slaughtered her brothers and sisters.

She had been half-way through a chapter on fire magic when suddenly she had found herself under attack, and had been forced to expedite another tactical retreat from a dracocidal maniac sent, presumably, by her traitor of a brother in his quest to be the last black dragon left alive.

If Caprifexia had been human, she might have thought it was some kind of elaborate life-insurance scheme. But she didn't, since as we have already established, she was a dragon.

This had led, after some breathtaking acrobatics to her being propelled by an explosion through some kind of rift in reality in her haste to urgently attend to more important matters elsewhere. The rift had opened into an abyss filled with terrifying shadows, floating platforms and bridges, and blazing stars strung together with gleaming strands of light, through which she had fallen.

Then despite the best efforts of her small wings she had hit one of the stars and found herself sinking into foul smelling swamp water that was higher than her head, all of which had been more than enough for the drowning whelp to declare it a 'bad day,' even if it wasn't yet noon.

As she thrashed about ineffectually in the dark water, primal terror gripped Caprifexia.

She, the last true member of her flight, the Aspect of Earth, was going to drown in foot deep water because her infuriatingly slowly growing body didn't reflect her true majesty, and because she had no idea how to swim.

Then, as black spots began to creep in on her vision, she remembered that she had managed the spell for her mortal guise two and a half months ago, and with a surge of magic transformed herself into a young woman that, while not particularly tall, could safely stand in the water without it going over her head.

She hadn't ever quite gotten the spell right, and without access to the books and wisdom of her flight, might never manage it; her eyes still glowed an eerie orange, and she had large horns jutting from her temples and sweeping back behind her skull.

Muttering several curses that a young woman – dragon or human – definitely should not have known she scrambled up onto some drier land, glad that no one had been around to see her rather embarrassing flailings.

She sat down on a rock with a huff, glad to have a chance to breath. Finally, hopefully, safe and dry she looked around and inspected her new domain.

As the smell had told her, she was indeed in a swamp; and judging by the insect chirps, one infested with disgusting creepy crawlies.

Caprifexia wasn't scared of bugs. She was, after all, a dragon, that would be absurd.

She simply hated them with a burning passion and wanted them to be exterminated to the last ant, or, in the mean time, at least keep them as far away from her as possible at all times.

There were a few other bits of land here and there, but on the whole the swamp was mostly below a few inches of dirty water. Tall trees raised on labyrinthine roots rose in every direction creating a seemingly impenetrable wall of wood that extended off into the distance. The only light came through foliage so thick that although the sun was directly above her head it felt like it was already dusk.

Something niggled at the back of her mind, telling her she was missing something, although _what _it was eluded her entirely. It was like an itch on her lower wing in the place she could never quite reach to scratch with her too-short neck, or a small shard of bone that sometimes would get wedged between her teeth and she'd have to spend ages worrying at with her tongue to dislodge.

She was fairly certain that the thing she was missing was important. Despite the buzzing and chirping of the swamp it was almost as if she was suddenly at the centre of a still pond that had previously always been a raging tempest.

Thus Caprifexia was so caught up in her internal reflection that she didn't notice the giant centipede crawling towards her until she felt the weight on her shoe.

Caprifexia certainly didn't hurl herself backward and land in a heap, screaming and swearing. That wouldn't have been in keeping with her great dignity as Earth-Warden and Queen of the Black Flight.

That definitely didn't happen.

"Fucking swamps!" screamed Caprifexia, shifting back into her whelp form and flapping up into the canopy, away from the creature that definitely didn't terrify her.

It took a lot of biting, clawing, and a few small gouts of fire, but she did eventually emerge from the thick canopy and out into the brilliant sunshine. From atop her perch on one of the higher trees she could see some mountains to her right, capped in snow, and she sighed in relief.

Snowy mountains, unlike swamps, tended to have very few bugs.

* * *

"You there," said Caprifexia in what she hoped was her most endearing voice. "Tell me what town this is."

She had flown west for a while, figuring that if she had landed in the Swamp of Sorrows she should would hit the Deadwind pass and Duskwood sooner or later – which might be a good place to lie low for a while.

She had, however, not hit the haunted forest, instead finding mountains that seemed to go on and on, and a towns where there shouldn't have been any towns. At first she thought she might be in Alterac, an area she was less familiar with, but there was no Lake Lordamere to the west, nor any ogres or undead apes.

So, after several confusing days she had decided to simply land and ask one of the local mortals.

"This is Helgen," said the man, frowning at her horns. "You have some kind of magical accident?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your horns."

"Oh – yes, that's right," she said, inwardly cursing her inability to cast the spell correctly. "That is definitely what happened."

The man grunted in a way that indicated that he was extremely unimpressed. "You with the Thalmor?"

"I am not _with _anyone," she said snootily, not entirely sure what a Thalmor was. It probably wasn't important.

"On your way to Winterhold then?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're a wizard, obviously – only they're stupid enough to give themselves horns by accident."

"Watch your tongue m- _man_," she said, almost calling him a mortal. Mortals didn't call each other mortals, they actually thought they were important like that. Bless them.

The man spat at her feet and Caprifexia saw red, and he was part-way through opening his mouth to say something else impudent when her fist rammed into his nose and he crumpled to the ground.

Caprifexia might have looked like a small woman, but even in her guise she was a dragon, and her body was in large part magical. She didn't _need _massive muscles to break the man like a twig.

"Fucking elves!" spat the man, as there was a rushing sound and the scraping of steel. "Why don't you go back where you came from?"

"That's enough Telvir," said one of a rapidly growing number of men and women in uniforms who were brandishing bits of metal at her. "Elf, you're under arrest for assault; you'll have to come with us."

"That man insulted me, and is a racist," she immediately countered. "I was provoked. He threatened to kill my entire family; burn down my home; sell my brothers into slavery. He wanted to harvest my organs, and carve-"

"Disliking Elves is not a crime in Skyrim, and no he didn't, I was standing right there," said the guard. "But please, resist, I got rather good at killing your kind in the war, and I would hate to let my skills atrophy."

Caprifexia glowered at him, but didn't resist as two of his fellows secured her arms behind her back and she was frog-marched towards the fort.

If she was older she would have simply fried them all with magic, or transformed ripped them apart with her teeth, but while she was still a whelp her hide wasn't tough enough to turn aside mortal weapons – she couldn't defeat a dozen or more guards quite yet.

But she remembered their faces. Oh yes. Give her a few years to grow into a full drake and then she'd come back and show them the price of assaulting a dragon. She'd show them all.

* * *

Two weeks later Caprifexia was still kicking her heels in gaol. Or rather, kicking the metal bars of her small dirty and dingy cell deep beneath the town's squat keep. She was starting to feel antsy, too long in a mortal form made dragons get like that. Like being stuffed into a too small box.

"Hey!" she shouted, for the seventeenth time that hour, banging her foot against the metal bars. "When am I going to get – what do you apes call it – a trial?"

"For the love of Akatosh, _please_ _stop_," said the only other inmate in a resigned voice from the cell opposite hers, a swarthy human with tanned skin and dirty blonde hair. "Didn't you get your answer when they socked you in the face?"

Caprifexia did have several bruises from when the wardens had gotten sick of her imperious demands, but she was a dragon, the definition of stubborn, and she had simply etched their face into her mind, added it to her rapidly growing 'kill later list' and kept on going.

"_Hey!"_ she shouted, ignoring him.

Then there was a rumble and the keep shook and something exploded outside. Some dust fell from the ceiling, and there was the sound of running far down the corridor.

"Finally," breathed the man opposite her.

"What's going on?" demanded Caprifexia.

"An opportunity, the guards will be distracted by whatever that is," he said, rattling his lock. "Damn, wish I had a pick."

"You know a way out?" she asked, as another explosion rocked the keep.

"Sure," he said, ineffectually trying to break the lock. "Not the first time I've been in here."

"How about we make a bargain then: you agree to show me the way out of here, and I break that lock for you."

"How are you going to do that?" he said sceptically.

Caprifexia took her own lock in her hand for focused, weaving her magic into the necessary form.

"_Ignis,"_ she intoned, using the nonsense mnemonic that she had associated with generating heat. Incantations were personal, and not entirely necessary. Good spellcasters did without, but she was still a novice, and needed the crutch.

There was a crackle as her magic made its way from her fingers into the metal, and she felt the lock heat up beneath her fingers as it began to slowly turn orange and melt within her hands.

"Why by the Eight didn't you do that _weeks _ago," he said. "I wouldn't have had to listen to your whinging."

"You didn't say you knew a way out," she said. "So, do we have a deal?"

The blonde man nodded and extended his hand. "You have my word, elf."

"Caprifexia," she said, ignoring whatever silly mortal ritual he was attempting.

"What?"

"My name, I am not called 'Elf.' You will address me properly or I will atomise you."

"Oh, err, of course – I'm Einar," he said, as she repeated her spell on the lock. "How does that not burn your hands?"

_Because I'm a dragon_. "Because magic, shut up," she said, opening the gate as the building shook once more. "Now what?"

"We-"

Before he said could finish whatever nonsense his limited mortal mind thought was important enough to annoy her with the doors to the prison broke open, cutting him off as a slightly burned looking woman with tanned skin and a short man with a shaved head entered, both wearing the armour of the 'Empire,' as Caprifexia had learned it was called.

"There is a way out-" began the woman, before she saw Caprifexia and Einar's in-progress breakout. Rather than being reasonable, the female guard yelled and drew her sword, not even bothering to ask what they were doing out of their cells before charging with bloody murder in her eyes.

Caprifexia, being a practical young dragon who knew that the more bodies were between herself and a sharp blade the better, immediately pushed Einar towards the guard and turned, running off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

"You _bitch_!" said Einar, recovering and following after her a moment later. "Throw a fireball at her or something!"

Oh, right. She was magic, wasn't she?

"_Augis," _she said, tossing the fire that jumped to her fingertips behind her without looking.

"Fucking hell," swore Einar. "At them, at them!"

There was a masculine scream as the fireball hit something with a whoosh, and Caprifexia looked backwards to see one of their pursuers fall to the ground, thrashing about as he tried to put the fire out.

"Again, again!" said Einar.

"_Augis," _she repeated, throwing another fireball blindly.

There was a female scream, and Caprifexia slowed as she glanced over her shoulder again to see the woman in the metal armour thrashing on the ground, attempting to put the fire out. Einar was slapping at some fire on his arm from where she must have clipped him, and Caprifexia almost felt bad for a moment – which confused her, since when did she care about mortals?

Oh it must have been because she still needed him to escape, that made more sense. She also needed lackeys. Dragons always needed lackeys. And he seemed to have an acceptably small number of scruples.

Behind him several of the more flammable parts of the prison were on fire, and Einar coughed as the air filled with smoke. It didn't bother Caprifexia though, her kind lived in volcanoes by choice, and could process many normally toxic gases as part of standard respiration.

It was one of the virtually endless ways her kind were infinitely superior to ugly hairless apes.

Einar eventually managed to put out the fire, before picking up the woman's sword from where it has fallen.

"Sorry, but you were trying to kill us," he said, before quickly and efficiently ending the life of the still burning woman. "That's a bad way to go. Can you put this out? She might have some coin."

"_Glacis," _she said, launching a ball of frigid mist towards the woman that made the flames splutter and die.

Einar quickly rifled through her pockets, withdrawing a very singed bag filled with coin, which he pocketed, and a dagger, which he handed to Caprifexia, before moving on and searching through the already still and more or less extinguished male guard.

"What am I suppose to do with this?" said Caprifexia, looking askance at the dagger.

"Stab things."

"That's what you're for, meat-shield."

"You are _unbelievably _arrogant," he said, heading in the direction they had been running. "Fine, come on."

The tunnel sloped downward for another minute, empty cells lining both sides. Then they reached a dead end and Einar pushed open the cell to their left.

"Are you drunk, mortal?" she said. "That's just another cell."

"Mortal?" he frowned. "Wow, I didn't know you altmer were _that _arrogant; you think yourself a Goddess or something? No – there's a passage."

He pushed a semi-loose brick in the upper right section of the cell, before one lower down. There was a huge grinding sound that definitely would have attracted attention had the apocalypse apparently not been happening outside, and to Caprifexia's surprise part of the wall slid away to reveal a dark passage.

"What sort of imbecile designed a secret escape route _inside _a cell?"

"This castle is ancient, maybe it wasn't always a prison," shrugged Einar. "Can you make us some light?"

"Of course," said Caprifexia, raising her hand. _"Lucernia."_

A pale white warelight burst into existence over her palm, before wobbling slightly. Caprifexia realised she had probably overtaxed her reserves a bit with the two fireballs. She was a dragon, and thus good at magic naturally, but she was also very young, and hadn't built up much in the way of reserves.

She had been very, very lucky that her two wild fireballs had hit.

"Let's go then," said Einar, ducking his head as he entered the tunnel. Caprifexia followed a moment later, and after ten or so seconds of walking the passage entrance shut itself just as the keep shook once more from whatever fortuitous destruction was going on up above to help cover their escape.

* * *

Caprifexia's arm shook as she lowered herself carefully to a rock outside the small crack in the rock-face that the tunnel had emerged from.

"Hey, Capri? You OK?" said Einar. "Something bothering you?"

Caprifexia gulped and stared down at her web-covered arms, flash backs of the dark cave illuminated by desperate flashes of orange, the tangled webs, the bodies wrapped in silk, and the _giant creeping legs_ making her shiver.

"Giant. Fucking. Spiders," she said. "_I_ _hate insects_."

"Well technically they're arachnids."

"Shut up mortal."

"Still with that?" laughed Einar. "Look – I get it, you live longer than me, but you're still going to age and die."

"Age," said Caprifexia imperiously, forcing herself not to think about the spiders and instead focus on recruiting the beginnings of a new network of mortal servants she had been meaning to replace ever since the last ones had all met rather messy ends. She shifted, her voice becoming ever so slightly deeper. "But not die."

Einar turned blinking as a small whelp replaced the small woman, web still clinging to her forelimbs.

"You can turn into a lizard?" he said sceptically. "I mean, nice magic, but how does that stop you dying?"

"_Turn into-_ you foolish mortal," she said, flexing her wings. "I am not a lizard – look, I have wings; I am a _dragon_."

Einar rolled his eyes. "Smallest dragon I've ever seen."

"I- look, I am young, yes, but I am still an immortal being," she huffed.

"As opposed to an elf who knows shape-shifting, and has a mild- who am I kidding, an_ accute _case of megalomania?"

"I _am _a dragon."

"Sure you are," he said, patting her on the head and nearly getting bitten. "Hey!"

"Listen mortal, I am giving you the opportunity to be the first of my minions. I can give you power, money, fortune-"

"How? You were just in prison, and while you're clearly a decent enough wizard, if you had that kind of clout I wouldn't have had to listen to you whinge for weeks."

"I am a dragon."

"Even if you were, that explains nothing," he said. "Look, you make me laugh Capri, and after you stopped trying to push me into swords we worked well together. I know some people in Riften, we could go into business together – cons, thieving, that sort of stuff; there aren't that many spell-casters in the business, we could go far."

Ah, 'business together' was a mortal phrase for forming a working relationship. So he had some pride, but had clearly accepted her offer. Excellent.

"Good idea, minion," said Caprifexia. "I do need contacts in the criminal underworld… very well, we shall go to this 'Riften.'"

Einar rolled his eyes. "Whatever 'dragon,' come on.


	2. The Great Apiary Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh from her triumph over the legion of soldiers sent to stop her daring escape from prison, as well as thousands of giant spiders that sought to vanquish our brave villianess, Caprifexia travels to the town of ‘Riften’ with her newest minion, Einar, who has promised his dark mistress the opportunity to further advance her dastardly and intricate plans to take over the world.
> 
> There she becomes embroiled in the city’s seedy underbelly, successfully ingratiating herself with a local crime lord by assisting him with one of his trivial mortal concerns. And while he might continue to think himself, for the moment, outside of her thrall, Caprifexia knows it is only a matter of time until he, and the rest of the city, grovel before her.

"So she thinks she's a dragon?" said her mortal lackey's contact, Binbolf, or something, she hadn't been listening.

He was a tall red-headed 'Nord,' one of the locals in a region she had never heard of before – 'Skyrim.'

There were a few strange things about the area: the orcs and humans seemed a lot friendlier with each other than Caprifexia remembered, there were cat and lizard people she'd never heard of before, as well as even _more _sub-breeds of elves than she had realised existed.

Then again, mortal studies never had been her best subject. It had been taught by a drake too weak to have a proper job in the Flight, and who couldn't control her clutch, so she had mainly dozed.

"Just go with it," said Einar, making some strange mortal winding motion beside his head. "She's a pretty good wizard though, melts locks in her hand and can shapeshift."

Caprifexia and her minion were currently in some very disgusting drainage system below the equally filthy mortal town of 'Riften.' There were various low-life looking types hanging around a rather slimy pool of water drinking slimy beverages, an eye-watering percentage of which was alcohol.

Ridiculous mortals, thought Caprifexia, they were always so keen to end their already short lives even sooner. And yet they had the audacity to complain when her people simply expedited the process. Hypocrites.

"I suppose we can always use more wizards," said Binbolf with a shrug. "Fine. Got a job that can work with two; the Goldenglow estate is important to one of the guild's biggest clients, and we need you two to go and teach them a lesson."

"How many should we kill?" asked Caprifexia. "Do you think one in every ten will do? A good traditional decimation?"

"What? No! No killing!" said Binbolf, frowning deeply and looking at Einar. "We just need you to get into their central office and steal the ledgers. Don't kill anyone, and _definitely_ do not damage the hives themselves."

"Got it," said Einar, breaching the boundaries of their minon-master relationship by taking Caprifexia by the shoulders and steering her out of the subterranean bar.

"Unhand me, mortal!" she said.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Einar, ignoring her. "Akatosh, you're crazy Capri."

"My name is _Caprifexia," _she said. "For an outlaw, Binbolf-"

_"_ _Brynjolf."_

"Do not interrupt me- for an outlaw, Binbolf seems remarkably unwilling to destroy his enemies. I'm not sure I care for the class of criminal you are introducing me to, minion. I require lackeys willing to cause death and destruction, not soft-hearted thieves."

"Fuck's sake, my name is Einar. _Einar._"

"I'm aware."

"Brynjolf is one of the head honchos of the Thieves guild, so play nice with him if you want to us keep getting jobs, yeah?" said Einar. "Now, how do you want to do this?"

"I _want _to burn down this honey factory, salt the fields around this squalid little city, and bathe in the blood of my enemies," she said. "But apparently no one cares what I want."

"OK, what about a plan that doesn't involve failing the mission before we even start it and hurting loads of innocent people? Something that doesn't sabotage the honey production, and doesn't involve murder."

"Well what about some mayhem?" she said. "We could set fire to the area near the hives, and while the workers are dealing with that, we just stroll in and take the ledgers?"

"I like the distraction ploy, but how about instead of setting things of fire we just pose as prospective buyers?"

"That sounds less entertaining," said Caprifexia. "But acceptable, I suppose."

Black dragons _were _masters of deception and subtlety after all.

* * *

Smoke curled up the walls of the office, billowing in from under the closed door.

"Hurry up," said Caprifexia, who was gripping the terrified manager of the Goldenglow Estate by his collar and shaking him periodically to stop him getting lippy.

She had been going to kill him, of course, but then she'd remembered that Binbolf had begged her not to, and it didn't pay to annoy one's prospective minion in the 'wooing' stage. You needed to speak softly, be gentle, offer to help them with whatever mortal neurosis was bothering them at the time, promise them power and wealth, and make them love you. The fear and terror came later. At least, that's what her textbook had said.

Also, for some reason she couldn't identify, now that she was actually at the Goldenglow Estate she found the thought of murdering a mortal in cold blood a little unsettling.

It must have been something she ate.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" said Einar, hurriedly shoving the key into the lock and opening a cabinet that contained the ledgers. "Of course, if you hadn't _set fire _to the damn building, I wouldn't have to hurry!"

"Please, I have a wife-"

"Shut up, no one cares," said Caprifexia to both of them, pushing the manager to the ground and giving him a kick in the rear for good measure. "Got them?"

"Yes," said Einar, grabbing the books and stuffing them into a satchel. "Let's go."

"Good, now listen here ape," she said, picking the manager back up before he could crawl away. "Tell the guards anything about us and I'll personally pay a visit to this lovely wife you've been gibbering about. I'll have dinner, it'll be _delightful_."

"I'd listen to her if I were you," said Einar, making that motion next to his ear again. "She's a maniac_."_

"OK! OK! Just don't hurt me, please!"

Satisfied, Caprifexia pushed him back to the ground.

"Brynjolf is going to be _so _mad," said Einar, coughing as he opened a window and crawled out, dropping to the ground six or so feet below as Caprifexia shifted and flapped down after him.

"Why? We didn't kill anyone, and the hives are fine," she said gesturing with a claw to the wooden boxes that were clearly not on fire, unlike the main building behind them that definitely was. "We fulfilled all of his ridiculous requirements."

"You're a total psychopath," he said as he ran for the nearest wall and vaulted over. "And switch back, it's weird talking to a flying lizard."

"Dragon."

"Fine, dragon," he said, putting up his hood and trying to look inconspicuous as Caprifexia flapped along beside him. _"Capri!"_

Caprifexia waited a few more seconds just to show that he wasn't the boss, she was, before switching and attempting to draw up her own hood. It got stuck on her horns and tore, but with a bit of wrestling she got it to come forward over her face. Very Stealthy.

"Hey you!" said a guard as they rounded the corner. "You see what happened?" he asked, gesturing to the orange flames and smoke pouring from the building they had just left.

"We certainly didn't set it on fire," said Caprifexia. "I heard that the manager was incompetent, and a drunk, and liked to gamble, and his wife was a criminal hiding from the law, so perhaps it was for _in-sor-ance, _and-"

Einar put a hand over her mouth. "We don't know anything about it sir."

"Oh, alright then," said the guard. "Just stay out of the way – we'll be bringing water carts through soon, and we don't need any gawkers underfoot."

* * *

"What on Nirn were you thinking!?" yelled Binbolf, upset despite having jumped through his absurd hurdles. "I told you not to damage honey production or hurt anyone. Does the word 'subtlety' mean anything to you?"

"We didn't, the hives are fine, and no one died," said Caprifexia. "And I don't – _hic – _like your tone, mortal."

"At least the guards seem to think that it was an inside job, something about it being insured for a lot of money, and the drunk of a manager refusing to say anything at all about it," said Binbolf, rubbing his face before shaking his head and walking away, muttering under his breath. Probably about how brilliant she was.

They were back in the unhygienic tavern, and Einar had bought them a bottle of something that probably would have burned Caprifexia's throat if she had been mortal. Caprifexia had insisted on sterilising her mug thoroughly with boiling water, which seemed to offend the barkeeper.

"Hah!" said Caprifexia, tossing down another mugful of the liquid. "I-sor-ance," she said, using a word she wasn't entirely sure the meaning of, but which she'd heard someone say in the subterranean bar the first time they'd been there. "I – _hic – _knew it."

"Capri, you literally made that stuff up not two hours ago, I can't believe the guards fell for it – you are an unbelievably terrible liar."

"Quiet minion," she said, pouring herself more of the 'rum.' "You're not supposed to – _hic –_ back chat me. You'll have to work on that."

"I'm not your minion."

"Sure you are, you agreed to 'go into business' with me," she said, gulping down the entire mug. "And since I'm a dragon, and you're a mortal, that makes this a master-minion relationship by definition. Anything else – _hic_ – it would be like… like a dog thinking it was equal to – _hic – _to a dragon!"

"You're deranged," he said. "And stop drinking so much, you're _tiny_ – you'll pass out."

"I'm a dragon – _hic – _I have a strong consti- consti- _constitution_."

"You're _not _a dragon, you're just a very disturbed young woman."

"Why – _hic – _can't you accept me for what I am, minion?"

"Because dragon's don't turn into people, and you have four legs – dragon's have two."

"Nonsense, _proto-drakes _have two legs. _I_ am a dragon, Blessed by the Titans, Scion of the Old Ones, Daughter – _hic – _of Deathwing, and Queen of the Black Dragonflight!"

Einar snorted. "And I'm the Prince of Atmora – see, I can make up stuff too."

"Make up?" she said, starting to get confused. She'd thought he was just being a typical foolish mortal. But even their ignorance had limits, difficult as it was to sometimes believe. "Are, are you seriously – _hic – _telling me you've not heard of the Black Dragonflight?"

"Yes Capri, I am."

"And Lord Deathwing? My father? What about the Cataclysm?"

"Cataclysm?"

"You know, the reshaping of the world: delightful earthquakes, breathtaking new volcanoes, massive glittering rivers of lava…" she said, waving her arms about.

"Nothing like that has happened for centuries, not since the Oblivion crisis."

"No, it was a world-wide event, even – _hic – _even whatever backwater place this is would have felt it's effects."

"Never heard of it."

Caprifexia frowned and looked at her drink, there was something wrong, something that had been niggling at her mind for weeks by this point. It wasn't anything she could definitively put a claw on, but it had started as soon as she had emerged from that abyss, when the stillness…

She jerked back in her chair, nearly tipping over the dirty piece of furniture before Einar caught her.

Apparently he was good for _something _as a minion.

"Easy Capri, you're just a little drunk, that's all-"

"N-no," she said, staring at her hands. "The whispers, the whispers are _gone_."

"Whispers? What whispers?"

"Ever since I was – _hic – _a hatchling," she said, part in awe, part in terror. "They've always been there, _that's_ why everything seems so _quiet_."

"Are you talking about some kind of mental illness?" he said seriously. "_Talos_, I didn't realise you actually had something. I'm sorry Capri, I shouldn't have made those comments about you being crazy; that was nasty and unfair. My cousin has schizophrenia, and he is one of the greatest blokes I know; you haven't been taking any medication that I've seen, should we go to the apothecary? He found that-"

"But if there are no whispers," she said, ignoring her minion's meaningless babble as her intoxicated mind slowly turned over. "Then this isn't Azeroth. And if this isn't Azeroth…"

"Azeroth?"

"Then… then I've found a way to teleport between planets," she finished, standing up and declaring loudly. "I – _hic_ – am the greatest mage in history!"

"Nevermind," said Einar, shaking his head. "You're clearly fine."

"Minion! Buy more of this horrific mortal drink, I want to celebrate!"

* * *

Caprifexia woke the next morning with an immense headache. Someone had put her to bed and tucked her in with some rather ratty blankets, probably her dutiful, if slightly impudent, minion, after she had, well, she didn't remember a whole lot after…

Oh right, the whispers. They were gone.

Part of her was rather scared by their absence. They had been a constant in her life, shaping her, guiding her since before she had hatched. To be without them felt like she had been cast adrift on a turbulent sea.

But at the same time, she felt a peculiar sense of liberation. Although she had never viewed it as such before, now that the whispers were gone she was entirely free of the influences of others, and, if she was honest with herself, it was a little disturbing that she'd never thought of the Old Ones as controlling her – as upon free reflection they quite clearly had.

Had that been what Wrathion had been doing? Had he somehow broken the whispers and grown so disgusted that his kin were servants that he had decided to end them? She supposed she could understand that reasoning, dragons were _not_ servants after all, not even to Gods.

She'd still have to kill him one day, for trying to assassinate her, of course. That was just how things were.

Regardless, she was safe from him here for the moment, assuming he didn't also _realise through some pale reflection of hersheer unmitigated genius_ the secrets of interstellar travel. She could build up an empire here, and then, when she was larger and even mightier she could return to Azeroth, kill Wrathion, kidnap a likely consort or two from one of the other flights and bring them back, begin repopulating her dragonflight, and then rule over this new world.

But why stop there? Why not conquer world after world? With almost infinite resources what was there to stop her and her new, free, Black Dragonflight? They could be as mighty as the Legion, and not half as wasteful.

She would rise! Rise as Queen of not just the Black Flight, not just of a single world, but as the Supreme Empress of the Cosmos!

But first she needed to get something to make her head stop spinning.


	3. A Strategic Application of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After successfully obtaining the Apiary's secret documents with cunning and skill, Caprifexia continues to deepen her hold on the shadowy criminal underworld of Riften.
> 
> Following Binbolf's desperate begging for her further assistance, she sets off with her primary minion to the town of Whiterun, where a mead-drinking club owns a famous axe in dire need of new ownership.

Three weeks after discovering that it was her destiny to rule not only Azeroth, but the entire universe, Caprifexia sat upon her minion's shoulder as he trotted towards the town of Whiterun.

Binbolf had prostrated himself before her to ask for assistance yet again, requesting that she use her awesome might and incomprehensibly devious mind to steal a famous axe from the 'Companions of Whiterun;' a drinking club for mead enthusiasts.

Or something; she hadn't been paying too much attention – she left the fine details to her minion. That was, after all, what he was for.

They were nearly at the town, approaching from the eastern side because her minion had made a mistake with the map and insisted too forcefully that they take the other road, which she overruled because she didn't like his tone, leading to them taking…

Well, it was probably his fault that they had had to walk around an extra mountain range. She couldn't imagine she would have made a mistake regarding geography, she was, after all, a _Black_ dragon, attuned to the earth, possessing an innate sense of direction, and generally being far better at everything than her minion. So that must have been how that had gone.

Yes, that was it, her minion had screwed up, not her. Obliviously.

"Ow! Watch the claws," said Einar, wincing as she flexed from her position on his shoulder. "I still don't understand why we couldn't get a second damn horse."

"Quiet minion," said Caprifexia, sniffing the breeze.

"Not your damn- ow!"

"There is something here," she said, ignoring him. "I smell sulphur, brimstone…"

A roar shook the sky as a giant proto-drake descended from the clouds and barrelled towards a stout stone watchtower.

**"Unrelenting Force!"** it shouted in some language Caprifexia hadn't previously heard before, and a wave of kinetic energy rippled out from it and crashed into the tower, smashing through the masonry and sending most of the upper section toppling to the ground in a cloud of billowing dust.

"Dragon!" yelped Einar, pulling on the reigns.

"Don't be silly minion. That's a proto-drake," sniffed Caprifexia. "_I _am a dragon."

"Not now Capri," he said. "We need to get the hell out of here."

"You think a degenerate mongrel like that is a match for a true dragon!? Pah!"

"Capri, you're a very small woman with a very big superiority complex who can turn into very tiny flying lizard. In contrast, that _monster_ just knocked the top off a tower," he said, turning the horse.

"You're right. Perhaps it isn't worth my time," agreed Caprifexia _confidently_ as the _proto__-__drake_ swooped down and grabbed a guard in its claws, climbing to a good forty meters before dropping the screaming mortal to the ground.

Proto-drake or no, it was rather massive…

Yes, too big to concern herself with. It wasn't like it was really getting in her way, and it would take so long to clean all the blood off her scales. Putting the clearly inferior creature down, which she obviously could do, would be a totally unproductive use of her valuable time. Yes, she wasn't this silly little planet's pest control, let them deal with it.

Unfortunately the proto-drake apparently hadn't been informed of her magnanimous decision to spare it, and wheeled around towards them.

"Capri- Capri," gibbered Einar as the horse screamed in terror. "It's coming right at us – _do something!_"

"_Nubilas," _Capri intoned, and a moment later a cloud of smoke billowed outward from her form, enveloping them both in thick, choking smog.

It was a rather nifty spell that Capri had developed herself after noting that most mortals found it hard to breathe in perfectly comfortable environs. The idea was that she could use it in an enclosed space against foes and simply wait for them to choke to death with minimal energy needed. It also served to obscure things, which meant it was harder to be attacked from range.

All in all, she was rather pleased with the result.

"You're a fucking _terrible_ wizard," coughed Einar, jumping from the horse as it thrashed about, pressing himself against the dirt where he presumably hoped there was still some fresh air. But Caprifexia had made sure that such obvious workarounds were accounted for, and the smoke extended fully to the ground. "Are you – _cough – _trying to kill us?"

"Oh, you're so dramatic minion," she said. "_Respirante_."

Einar gasped as a bubble of air – usually used for breathing underwater – formed itself around his mouth.

He coughed a few more times. "Now what?"

"Now we wait for the proto-drake to get bored and find someone else to annoy."

"**Clear Skies!"**

Caprifexia _watched __disinterestedly_ as her small cloud of smoke was blown away by a gust of wind and she found herself face to face with the very large proto-drake, and certainly didn’t yelp and press herself against the ground in an effort to hide.

"**Hmm,"** it said, stalking towards her as she quickly placed her minion in between herself as the proto-drake. **"What are you? dragon, but… not?"**

"How can you speak?" she blurted in response. "You're just a proto-drake!"

"**I am a dragon."**

"No you're not," she interjected. "You've only got two legs! _I'm _a dragon."

"**And you speak the tongue… strange – tell me little one, what is your name?"**

"I am Caprifexia, Queen of the Black Dragonflight, Aspect of Earth, Apex of Draconic Evolution, and future Ruler of the Cosmos!"

The giant creature regarded her for a few more moments, sniffing deeply before snarling. **"You are nothing, an impostor – a foolish mortal taking a guise."**

"How dare you call me a _mortal _you overgrown lizard!" roared Caprifexia. _"Augis!"_

A scorching fireball jumped from her maw and rocketed towards the dragon.

Who ignored it as it washed over its face, causing no appreciable harm.

"**Pathetic, let me show you how it is done, Fire Inferno Sun!"**

Orange bloomed at the back of it's throat, and Caprifexia froze as she saw death bearing down upon her.

She regretted that she hadn't made more of her short life.

She regretted that she hadn't lived every moment more fully.

She regretted that she hadn't exterminated every last bug in creation.

She perhaps even regretted that she hadn't been nicer to her minion. Actually no, probably not.

But most of all she regretted that she was about to die, and that she wouldn't get to rule the universe.

Then her minion, who she had strategically placed with astonishing foresight, grabbed her out of the air, and with a great leap just managed to reach a ditch – which Caprifexia had, of course, known was there for such a purpose – which was just deep enough to shield them from the raw flames. Although her minion did whimper slightly about the heat as the fire roared through the air above him, the big baby.

"Capri!" he coughed. "We need to get out of here – teleport us, or something, anything!"

Caprifexia coolly and calmly considered her options, she did not scream, and definitely did not panic in a similar manner to when she had been ambushed by her brother's assassin.

As planned, a tear in reality opened, and both she, and Einar fell through it before the proto-drake could advance and _meet it's end at her mighty talons._

It got lucky, this time.

Unlike the last time she had _totally __deliberately__ made her way into_ the strange in-between place, when Caprifexia had been propelled by an explosion through the rift, this time she, and her trusty minion, simply landed on some crumbling masonry rather than falling through the void a few meters away.

The ruinious platform that surrounded the miniature iridescent star was a hodgepodge of different constructions, the only constant the mouldering nature of the structures. Some parts were recognisably 'Nord,' but others were in architectural styles she had never seen before, and other sections were simply rough timber haphazardly nailed together.

All around, along angles that were slightly mind bending, even to a dragon, rickety and crumbling bridges led up, down, around, and across to other miniature suns. While the last time Caprifexia must have simply fallen until she happened upon a world thanks to whatever strange geometry governed this place, this time she would be able to – presumably – simply walk between worlds at her leisure.

"Ah ha!" she said. "I knew that I would master the ability!"

"Where are we?" said Einar, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

"The paths between worlds!" said Caprifexia. "Behold my power minion! With this ability I will one day rule over the entire universe. Serve me well and I may make you a governor of a planet. Perhaps a continent. Maybe a city. Actually, let's be realistic, a small hamlet, you are only a mortal after all… how would you like your very own house?"

Caprifexia attempted to flap up to her usual spot on her minions shoulder, before yelping as she discovered that her wings simply didn't provide any lift.

"You OK?"

"I cannot fly!" she said in horror.

"Oh what a shame, you'll have to use your proper form for once," he said, rolling his eyes, and jumping out of the way as she tried to claw her way up his leg. "No! Stop that right now!"

"This _is _my proper form," she huffed, before reluctantly switching into the horned elf form that she normally only wore in towns.

"So – this is some kind of pocket dimension or something?" said Einar. "And the other suns are what, different parts of Tamriel?"

"No minion, do keep up, these are different _worlds_," said Caprifexia. "One of them is my own, although I don't presently know which…"

"Wait… you're serious?" he said, his eyes lighting up in wonder at the wondrous nature of her power. An appropriate reaction to her majesty, _at last._ "Those are other worlds?"

"Indeed," she said.

"Then why in Oblivion are we making peanuts working for the Thieves Guild?"

"Minion, you're talking nonsense again."

"No – listen," he said. "Different worlds have different goods – yes? Just like in Tamriel, different countries make things others can't, those get moved by merchants, and sold for a profit – yes?"

"I am not that interested in the particulars of mortal trade – that's what I have you for minion."

"But this is a _monopoly!" _he said. "We simply have to buy something one world has, but another doesn't – take it there, then _bam_, sell it for an outrageous price, and rinse and repeat. No competitors, we can charge whatever they can pay."

"And this helps me take over the universe how?"

"Who needs to rule directly when we could have a _trade empire?_"

Caprifexia did like the idea of having an empire, although she didn't think her minion really understood how such things worked – poor limited creature. Gold was all well and good for lounging about on, but no substitute for an army of lackeys that both loved and feared you.

Oh well, perhaps his silly little scheme could be a building block to an empire. After all, mortals _did _like money.

"Of course. I was already thinking of something similar. But just so I'm sure you understand my idea, why don't you explain your current, limited understanding," she said, skillfully preserving the proper master-servant dynamic: she came up with the ideas, he carried out her will. It wouldn't do to let him think _he _was capable of directing things after all.

"We pick a world another world, scope it out, buy some stuff that we can sell back on Nirn, and by the time we come back the dragon should be gone," he said. "We should probably still get that axe, otherwise Brynjolf-"

"Who?"

"Brynjolf, the leader of the Thieves guild. Otherwise he'll be pretty annoyed with us."

"Oh Binbolf."

"That isn't his name."

"I think you'll find it is minion. Honestly, you really should pay more attention."

"Not your minion," he said. "But I will admit I was wrong in one area, you _are a_ great wizard. Stark raving mad, but undeniably great. _We're going to be_ _so rich!_"

* * *

"Why would anyone want this junk?" said Caprifexia as they walked through a bazaar in the rather awful dusty and smelly city they had arrived near. She quite like the pyramids, and the heat, but it was full of absolutely filthy mortals. "This planet seems particularly boring. Minion, make a note to put it at the bottom of the invasion list."

"It does all look rather mundane, doesn't it?" said Einar. "And you really can understand these people?"

"Of course, I am a dragon."

"Hmm," said Einar, pausing before an arms dealer selling swords, daggers, and other mortal implements for hitting one another with. "Capri, I'm not great at magic, but none of this stuff is enchanted, is it?"

"What? No, it isn't," she said.

"Has anything been?"

"No, as I said, this place is incredibly boring."

Her minion rubbed his hands together. Probably cold – poor creature, without an internal furnace and proper scales it was a wonder any of his kind even made it through winter.

"Can you ask the price for that sword?"

"_You, mortal – how much is the sword?" _she said in the local tongue, pointing at the weapon in question.

"_70 Honours_," said the dealer, crossing his arms and frowning at her.

"'70 Honours' - whatever that means."

"The local coins, I think," said Einar. "And can you ask the exchange rate between an 'Honour' and gold?"

"_You, mortal, my minion wishes to know the 'exchange rate between an Honour and gold,'" _she said.

"_Whaddya I look like, a bank?" _he said. _"Buy something, or piss off-"_

Caprifexia broke his nose.

"What the fuck Capri!?" said Einar as the man fell backwards.

"He was rude to me," said Caprifexia mildly.

"_You little bitch!" _said the Arms dealer, grabbing one of his swords.

"Whoa whoa, let's all calm down," said Einar, holding up one hand to placate the dracocidal man, while the other surreptitiously gripped the handle of the dagger in the small of his back. "I'm sorry sir, she didn't mean it, we'll be on our way now."

The man relaxed slightly at his tone, lowering the weapon. Her minion, however, proved himself a great disappointment by not immediately stabbing when his guard was down. She was going to have to have a talk to him about the need to actually follow through when luring foes into false senses of security.

"There, no need for anymore violence-" said her minion, which was perhaps the most bizarre statement she had ever heard. There was _always _a need for violence, a need to keep the mortals from getting inflated ideas of their own importance.

No, she wouldn't stand for this complete perversion of the natural order.

"_Fuerza_," said Caprifexia, punching her first towards forward and sending the sword-seller barrelling back into the stall behind him – a soup vendor – with a blast of conjured force.

There were screams of outrage and pain as the arms dealer was scalded rather badly by the hot broth.

"Fucks sake Capri!" said Einar, taking her hand and dragging her away at a run.

"Unhand me minion!" she said. "I was not yet finished destroying my nemesis!"

"I can't take you anywhere, can I? You're a total psychopath!" he said, turning his head towards the several guards with leather armour and spears following them. "Open another portal – quick!"

Caprifexia focused, willing reality to part before her might.

Nothing happened.

"I don't feel like it," said Caprifexia after a few moments.

"_Put your hands on your heads and get on your knees!"_

* * *

The cell door shut with a firm clang.

"_Why!?"_ said Einar, sitting down on the bench. "Why must you start fights wherever we go? Now I have to put up with another whole month in gaol with you because you can't seem to act like a civilised being. _'Accessory to Battery' – _I should have known that trying to go straight wouldn't work with you around."

"The mortal provoked me; he refused to answer my question," said Caprifexia, examining her nails and licking some of the dried mortal blood off them. It was a little fishy. "And you worry to much minion. These pathetic bipeds don't even have magic, it will be easy to escape – if you're good, I'll even take you with me."

"It would be especially easy to get out if you just opened a portal to the in between place."

Caprifexia frowned and seriously considered this idea, scrunching up her face in concentration, but eventually decided against it.

"Of course – you _can't _do it at will, can you?" continued Einar. "You're just to proud to admit it."

"Don't be absurd, of course I can; I am a dragon."

"Then do it."

"I told you, I don't feel like it."

"Is there anything common between the times you've been able to do it?" he said. "What happened just before the first time you used it?"

"My brother sent an assassin to kill me."

"Of course he did," said Einar. "_Of course_ you don't have anything resembling a normal family. OK, so both times your life was in danger, and your ability activated to save you."

"'Save me?' Pah! I could have taken that proto-drake – if I'd wanted."

"So all we have to do is trick your ability into thinking you're under attack," he said, ignoring her in a very impudent manner. He stood up, and stretched out his hands. "Come here."

"I do not like where this suggestion is going minion," she said, taking a half-step back as he advanced on her.

"Come on, I'm not _actually _going to hurt you," he said. "I'll start choking you-"

"No."

"Come on-"

"No!" said Caprifexia, backing up into the bars.

She couldn't let her minion choke her. It went against all norms of master-servant relations. She was a dragon, the life of any mortal that laid a hand on her was forfeit.

But she quite liked Einar, he was useful, loyal, and at times even pleasant to be around. And if she killed him she would be totally, utterly alone.

Tensions that had been building for the past few weeks clawed their way up and into her chest, stabbing at her heart like a rusty dagger, and just as his hands closed on her neck reality popped like a soap bubble behind her.

"See, told you," he said, ruffling her hair as a portal the strange 'between place' appeared next to them and he stepped through. "You need to just make yourself afraid to use it."

"I am a dragon, I do not get scared," she sniffed, rubbing her eyes and stomping through the portal, which closed behind her.

"Whoa, Capri- are you crying?"

"No!" she said. "There is something in both my eyes; it's probably your fault."

"Whoa, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd get upset," he said. "Hey, hey, we'll find another way next time, OK? OK?"

"No, you foolish minion, you don't understand!" she sniffed.

"Yes, yes, I'm a foolish minion, one who is very sorry, please Capri, stop crying."

"I'm not crying!" she said, stomping off in a random direction. "Dragon's don't cry!"

"Hey, wait up. We don't want to get turned around in this place."

"Shut up minion!" she said, sitting down on the edge of one of the platforms and staring out into the void of floating suns and the endless walkways connecting them.

He sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder, although thankfully didn't speak anymore and let Caprifexia work through all her confusing anger and rage.

Damned mortal with his damned kindness, and his personability, and not being easy to cast aside when no longer useful.

It had been so much _easier _when she still had the whispers. Without them she was broken, free or not. Without them she had all these distressing feelings that made her feel a bit bad about breaking that man's nose, or pushing Einar towards the guards back in Helgen, or when she'd set that honey factory on fire, or when she'd broken that other man's nose.

And now she was blubbering like a mortal baby, some dragon she was.

"So your brother tried to kill you?" he asked after Caprifexia's shoulders had stopped shaking.

"Yes," she sniffed, accepting his handkerchief and blowing her nose noisily. Ridiculous mortal noses, if she were in dragon form she could just breathe a little fire to clear out her sinuses. "He wanted to be the last black dragon alive."

"You're really doubling down on the whole dragon thing, aren't you?" he said, looking up at a distant sun. "I suppose if you're from a different world- oh, _oh_."

"What?"

"You're a child – aren't you? This _isn't _your real form, you are really that tiny, _baby _dragon."

"A whelpling, I have explained this," she said. "You mortals really are slow to grasp fairly basic concepts, aren't you?"

"Sorry – it's just, well you look about twenty or so in your… current form," he said.

"Dragons mature more quickly than mortals: we have ancestral memories, are far more intelligent, more attractive, and are generally better at everything."

"You certainly have much bigger egos," he chuckled. "So which one is your home?"

"I don't know where it is," she admitted, gesturing out to the void. "I was knocked by an explosion, and I can't fly here – I just fell until I hit your world. Somewhere above us, I assume."

"I'm sorry Capri."

"Even if I could return, it wouldn't be safe."

"Your brother?"

"No. It's hard to explain to a mortal."

"Try? You're my friend Capri, even if you're infuriating."

Caprifexia huffed. She shouldn't have to explain herself to her mortal servant. She should be cold and imperious and flawless.

But part of her did want to share her past with her <strike>friend</strike> _minion_.

Some sick and twisted part of her.

"My flight, we have a connection with the earth. Long ago this connection put us in contact with some beings called the Old Gods and it, well, at the time I didn't think much of it, but they were whispering into my mind ever since I was in my egg – whispering to all my people. Our foes called it a corruption, and- and I think that they might have actually been _right_. The Old Gods told me to kill and maim and destroy, but we didn't used to be like that."

"No?"

"We were the planet's guardians, along with the other four flights. We were supposed to watch over mortal-kind, guide and protect them, since they were so useless," she said. "But ever since I fell through this void, the whispers have stopped. I don't even know who I am anymore. I would have killed you in a heartbeat for putting your hands on my neck not two months ago, but now I'm _crying_. It feels like part of me has been cut away. Before I was something, I had a purpose – to help restore my flight and achieve world domination. But now? I don't know, I'm broken."

She wiped her nose again and looked away, immediately feeling foolish. Proper dragons confided in other dragons, not in their mortal minions. Even when breaking down she couldn't even do it properly.

"It sounds like you've been set free," he said. "Free to choose your own fate, free not to randomly attack people_ for no r_eason – which, by the way_, _you still do, free to be the person _you _want to be."

"But what if I don't know what that is?"

"None of us really do."

"You're a mortal, I'm a dragon – we don't just scramble about in the dirt, we have _destinies_."

"I don't think the fact that you have scales and fangs makes you less or more of a person. Sentience and creativity defines person-hood, not shape or sex or gender or species or longevity; and sentience means that you get to choose what you do with it," he said. "But if you're looking for purpose, you say that your people were originally protectors? Why not be that again? With your abilities you could guard and protect the entire cosmos – once you were a bit bigger, of course. I mean, I know I make fun of you, but for – wait, how old are you?"

"Twenty two and a half months."

"Twenty– really? OK, even more-so: for a little under two years old, you are a mindbogglingly powerful wizard."

Caprifexia considered his words.

Was that it? Was that her calling? To return to what her people had once been, as Wrathion reputedly was attempting to? Her father would have scoffed, but did it really matter what he thought? He had tried to destroy the world at the behest of the Old Gods after all, and following the orders of others was hardly proper dragon behaviour.

And just because she might have lost something and was unable, and perhaps unwilling, to return to what she was didn't mean she was somehow was forever broken.

She was still a dragon, the apex of life in the universe, she could still have purpose – even if she made it herself. And her minion was right, there was no reason she couldn't set herself a new goal; and becoming more like her distant ancestors seemed as good a goal as any.

"Yes, that's it. Thank-you minion, I know now what to do," she said, standing and spreading her arms wide. "I will not conquer, I will not lay it to waste to worlds and crush them beneath my talons. No, I will become the greatest hero the cosmos has ever seen – Caprifexia the Beneficent, Savior of the Universe!"

"Well, Savior of the Universe, perhaps if you're going to be all heroic then you should maybe stop calling me minion? Villains have minions; heroes don't."

"Really? How bizarre – who does the menial work then? What do I call you then?"

"You do. And how about 'Einar?'"

"I… suppose," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "That will take some getting used to."

"Great," he said, standing himself. "Well then, how about we head back to Tamriel. We still need to get that axe. But after that we can buy up all the cheap enchanted junk we can and flog it for an outrageous sum on that magicless world we just visited."

"Those things don't sound very heroic," she said. "Although admittedly, I'm not really sure what it is that heroes do."

"To become a hero you need supplies, books, training, the works," he said. "For that you need coin, so really, it's your _duty _to extort as much money with your abilities as you possibly can."

"Ah, of course, good thinking minion – perhaps this hero thing won't be too difficult after all."

"_Einar. _My name is _Einar."_

"Oh, yes. That."


	4. Compulsory Hero Tariffs

Caprifexia was munching on a bit of fried fish as she walked along a street of the dusty city that lacked magic entirely and had a name she hadn't bothered to learn when she heard the shout.

"Help, help! I'm being robbed!" came the plaintive cry of an elderly mortal woman as she struggled with a thin man with a bandana over his face who was trying to take her bag.

Caprifexia paused for a moment, before taking another bite of fish and continuing on her way.

"Err, Capri?" said Einar, gesturing to the altercation. "Aren't you a hero now? Shouldn't you, you know, intervene?"

"Oh, right," she said, glancing between her tasty fish and the mugger. On one hand, she was supposed to be following in her ancestors footsteps, on the other hand… tasty fish. "Ugh. Fine. Hold this, I'll want it back," she said, pushing her half eaten snack into his hand and moving in the direction of the villainy.

The thief managed to wrestle the bag away from the woman and broke into a run, helpfully in Caprifexia's direction, and as he passed she stuck out her foot, sending him crashing to the ground. There was a nose-like crack, and blood began to spurt from his face.

"Hark villain!" she declared in the local tongue, snatching up the bag. "Know that you have been bested by Caprifexia, Savior of the Universe! Do not feel ashamed, for you are but a mere mortal, and never had a hope of defeating me, Caprifexia, Saviour of the Universe!"

The defeated villain moaned in pain as Caprifexia gave him a kick in the ribs for good measure, before turning to her minion and tossing the bag over her shoulder.

"Come on minion, let's get out of here before those guards show up again," she said rushing away from her fallen nemisis.

"For fucks sake," said Einar as he rushed to catch up with her and the elderly woman broke into screeches of outrage. "Capri! Capri! You're supposed to give the bag back!"

"That's silly, I'm a hero; I need its contents to support my heroing. Me saving the universe is more important than whatever pointless mortal thing she was going to use it for," she said, slowing down as the woman's protests faded into the background and they turned into a dark alley. "Let's see," she said, rifling through the bag until she found a coin-purse. "Ah, money – that's what you said Heroes needed, right minion?"

"You're not really getting this, are you?" said Einar. "And my name is Einar, not minion."

"Oh, yes, Ei-nar," she said, pronouncing the word carefully as she opened it and peered inside. "Oh! That's- actually, I have no idea; is this a lot of money, Ei-nar?"

"Wow, yeah, she was loaded," he said, taking it out of her palm and counting the squat golden coins. "Nice haul Capri."

"I think they went that way officer," came a voice in the local language from down the alleyway.

"Capri, they're onto us," said Einar. "Conjure a portal, quick."

Caprifexia scrunched up her face.

"Capri!" he said. "They're going to get us, be more scared!'

"Dragons don't get scared," she explained.

"There they are!" shouted the guards. "It's that horned woman, the one who escape the gaol!"

"Hurry up Capri," said Einar as the six men armed with rapiers rounded the corner stormed towards them. "They're getting closer!"

"I'm… not in the mood."

"Oh, look – there's a spider on your shoulder," said Einar.

Caprfexia _reasonably articulated her dislike of spiders, __loudly,_ and a moment later reality shuddered, although that was obviously a coincidence, and a portal appeared.

Unfortunately for the guards, the rift happened to manifest in-between Caprifexia and the charging officers of the law. And, as Caprifexia had discovered on her first trip, high momentum and portals to the in-between-place didn't mix.

"Get it off, get it off!" she said, stumbling through the portal.

"Relax, there wasn't anything there," said Einar, brushing her shoulder as the tear in reality snapped closed behind them. "See? Nothing."

"Don't do that."

"I'll stop doing that when you learn how to make a portal without nearly pissing yourself," he said, coming to the edge of the platform and looking down at the six guards as they hurtled downward, screaming in terror as they fell. "Poor bastards."

"Hah, take that villains!" said Caprifexia retrieving her fried fish on a stick as she basked in the feeling of yet another successful bout of heroism and watched the guards get smaller and smaller.

If they were lucky, they'd hit another platform or bridge sooner rather than later, although speed and the impact of collisions did seem to be a funny thing in the in-between, since she hadn't been hurt in the least. Then again she was a dragon, and therefore obviously better at everything, falling included.

Caprifexia wondered idly, if they survived, if they'd find their way back to their home world, or step through another portal and become stranded on a different world.

She munched on her fish as she mulled over the problem, before eventually deciding that since they were just villains, she didn't really need to worry about it.

In fact, wasn't people being punished for villainy part of… what had her minion called it? 'Just-This?'

Yes, that was it. Instead of getting rewarded for their villainous behaviour, they got 'Just-This.'

Whether that was just-locked-in-a-cell, just-hit-with-something-hard, or, if they'd been particularly naughty, attempting to frustrate legitimate heroing and the like, just-thrown-off-a-cliff-in-a-pocket-dimension-between-worlds.

Something like that anyway. She hadn't really been listening when Einar had tried to explain it, so the concept was still a bit fuzzy. Regardless, they weren't her problem anymore.

"Capri, they weren't villains."

"Nonsense, I am a hero, like the Black Dragons of old; it's in my blood, it's what I was born to be," she said, finishing her snack and tossing the stick after the villains. "People who are opposed to heroes are, by definition, villains. Honestly minion, do keep up."

Einar looked like he wanted to argue. But then he just sighed and shook his head, no doubt because he realised how foolish it was to argue with a genius like herself.

"Well we didn't sell everything, and I'm not sure we should head back there until things, err, settle down," he said, clearing his throat. "Why don't we try another world?"

"An excellent suggestion minion, perhaps there will be more villains to defeat there."

"Einar, I'm called Einar."

"Ah, yes, I keep forgetting, I'm-" she said, before biting her lip and trailing off. "What am I supposed to say next?"

"'Sorry.'"

"Oh yes: 'I'm sorry.'"

"You know, that's almost progress."

* * *

"What about this one?" asked Einar as they came to a particularly ruined platform, which was mainly rough baked dirt, sand, and elegant but eroded ruins constructed from some kind of sculpted sandstone. "Looks deserty."

"Huh?" she said with a tired yawn.

"Well, there platforms represent aspects of that world – right? Like, there are Nord, Aldmeri, and Cyrodillian construction styles on the platform that leads to Nirn; and that place we just went to, that didn't seem to be anything but forest and bugs, it's platform was just dirt and rocks and trees. This one has a lot of sand, so it should be desert-like, yeah? Maybe the locals are like the other desert, no magic – a perfect place to dump our junk."

They'd ended up stuck nearly twelve hours on that particular world, despite the near constant state of a certain emotion, that definitely had not been terror, that Caprifexia had been in from being near so many creepy crawlies.

She also felt exhausted. She wasn't sure why, but it was an effort to trudge after Einar as he ran on ahead, sketching a map and making notes and generally behaving like an excitable mortal fool. It was the longest they'd been in the in-between place, and they had passed dozens and dozens of stars. Caprifexia hadn't been sure why they'd been passing by them, but had been too tired to ask.

"Crafts we might be able to sell elsewhere," he said, gesturing wildly as Caprifexia yawned and lent against some sandstone masonry, watching some dark sort of fog swirl ahead of them in the void. "Just think- hey, you OK Capri?"

"Tired," she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, you don't look so good," he said with a frown, tapping his lip with a finger as he furrowed his brow. "But we haven't done anything really strenuous – we just sat around for hours in that forest once you'd scouted and seen nothing much of anything. Are you sick or something?"

"Dragons don't get sick."

"Of course," he said wryly. "But just, hypothetically, if you were sick, we could head back to Nirn, it wouldn't be a problem."

"No, I'm not- I'm not 'boasting,'" said Caprifexia, using her minon's term for her _entirely accurate proclamations._ "Dragons don't get sick. Ever. We're magical creatures. We can get cursed, but not sick."

"Then why are you so tired? Are you cursed?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "There was pretty much no ambient magic on that world, I would have noticed something attacking me."

"Maybe creating portals to this place takes it out of you? You've done three today, and it took you ages to get that last one working, even though you hated being around all the bugs."

"Maybe," she conceded grudgingly. Sometimes Einar wasn't a total fool, despite his mortal shortcomings: all magic did come at a price.

"Come on, let's head back to Nirn – we can get some rooms in the Bannered Mare and-" he said, pausing. "Capri, is that fog getting closer?"

Caprifexia followed his gaze to where she had been looking before he'd started worrying over her, and blinked in surprise. The fog was coming closer, and not in any kind of happenstance way, but rather streaking across the void directly at them, and rapidly gathering speed.

Even as she watched the fog grew more solid, and within it she caught a few flashes of strangely colourless lightning, and what might have been a large vertical pupil.

Then she heard it; faint, clammy, slithering whispers like the ones she had grown up with. They were somehow removed from the oneness with her she remembered, and she didn't have trouble distinguishing her own thoughts from them, but they were unmistakably the same.

Einar gasped, clutching the side of his head, and adrenaline coursed through Capri as she realised not only what she was looking at, but where she actually was.

This wasn't some kind of pocket dimension between planets, this hadn't been constructed by any mage.

The structures around the stars that lead to worlds reflected the psychic emanations of the living creatures there, as Einar had articulated in his foolishly roundabout mortal manner, but they were decaying, twisted mockeries of reality, a mishmash created by non-beings that didn't and couldn't comprehend mortal, or even immortal minds.

She was in the Void.

The creature chasing after her?

Either an Old God, or one of their servants.

The portals to different worlds?

Beachheads.

As soon as the realisation struck her it was like a veil had been peeled back from her eyes.

Somehow before she had realised what she was looking at she had missed all the fleshy, twisted tendrils that sprouted all over the platforms and bridges, the impossible shadows that writhed in the space between the platforms, the streams of energy that bled from the stars wherever the tendrils touched them, the hundreds of eyes that sprouted from the void infestations, blinking at her and Einar and leaking yellowish goo.

"We need to go minion," she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the star. "We need to go right now."

L̶̥͗ê̶͉a̵̡̽v̵̖̉ė̷̘ ̸̯̀h̶͓͘ì̵̱m̸̰͠,̸̣̏ ̴̭̅h̸̢̉e̸̼͋ ̷̱͂ǐ̶̳s̴̭͝ń̶̩'̷̤͑t̷̰̐ ̵̢͊ẃ̷̗ö̵͎́r̴͕͝t̷̘́h̵͚̐ ̴͚͌ỷ̶͎ŏ̷̢u̵͇̒r̴͉͐ ̸͘͜t̵̪͛i̴̭͐m̷̜͝e̷͈̽.̵͈̄

"What is going on? There is this buzzing in my head," said Einar, digging his heels in. "Something is wrong."

Ḧ̶̼e̸͉̾'̵̲̿s̶̮̈́ ̷̞̉j̶̱̔u̷̦̐s̶̝̏t̸̜̔ ̷̪̀ä̴͍ ̶̹̽p̴̯̐ä̸̯ẗ̷̰́h̸̨̿e̴͎͠t̵̾͜i̸̤̋c̷̦̉ ̸̻͆m̵͎͋o̸͔͗r̷͐ͅt̵͍͗a̷͔͂l̶̨̊ ̷̜̈w̵̥͝o̷̬͑r̸̮̐m̴̱̍.̶̙̃

"Minion!" she said, pulling at his arm ineffectually. "Minion! Listen to me we need to leave."

N̷͇̓̕o̷͍̝͎͛̉͛̐̏͘ ̴̡̫̟̯̹̽ͅd̵̡͇̩͈̏ở̶̼̞̲͋͋͘ṇ̵̞̪̫̻͐͑'̴̝͎̇̀͋͐́ẗ̷͉̣́͗͛̆͗ ̴̛̺̈́l̴̢̝͍̮͆̌͆̐ë̸͖̼͔͓̘́͆͠ȃ̸̤̩͖̬͍̂v̷͇̦͂́͗e̵̳͚͎̎̃̈́̕ ̸̜̮̞͉̂͆͑̕͜h̶̲̪̞͙̩̹̅̇͛͋͆i̴̟͐̏̐̔͝ḿ̷̹̬̟̦̉̃͑͘,̶̨̖̻̥̄͋͘ **̵̱̪͈̖̤̓̾̅͆̓͠ǩ̷̢͙͙̲͎̏͌̉ȋ̴̡̗̭̘̹͉l̵̙͙͖̔͋̆̾l̵͇̥̖̬̻̐̇͝** ̴̡͕̥͔̭̉̇͗ͅh̵̢̐̽̉͛̕͠i̶̛͕̤̖̝̲̓̓̋̈́͝m̷̧̡̭͓̾!̷͉͕̟̙̝̑̃

"I can't- I can't-"

Ķ̸̟̲̪̲̎̈͂ͅi̵̩͐͗̚l̷͙͔̈́l̵̜̳̘̭͆ ̸̖͓̦̆̀ĥ̵̠̬̠͓̰̉͌͒͝į̴̘̳͔̈́͘͝m̷̘̝̤̫̙̅̔̉͐̕ ̷̤̯̈́̈́͒̾́ḵ̸͊̚i̸̢͚̝͌͗͛͛͝͝ļ̸̦̯̀̎ḽ̶̦̘̣̭͇͑̿́̈͝͠ ̶͍̙̥̻̆h̷̡̙̭͔͍̖̓i̷̤͉̯̠̪̼͂̆͑͛̀m̸̰̙̬̳̗͆͑́͛͜͠ ̷̡͚̥̬̊̂̋̌̑͜ͅḱ̶̠͓̦̲̥̮̈̿͑̚͠i̸̞̼͂̒̂̐̔l̶̗͕̋̓̕͝l̷͇̣̭̘̼̂͑́̆̂͝ ̷̢͙̜̂h̴̲̽i̸̖̽́ͅm̷̬͇͙͌͑̇ ̸̛̻̯͖̝̉͗͊͠͝ͅk̶̞͙̗̈̾i̸͈̊̎̃͝l̶͔͙̩̽̍l̵̦̄ ̷̢͓̺͛͂͊̅̆ĥ̷͓̺͖̉͝í̶̺͕̒͋̓̈͜m̴͓̬̦̃̑̽̎!̷̡̥̞͇̰̫͗̊͛̕

"Minion! Minion! Snap out of it you pea-brained mortal," she said, wrenching harder and kicking at his shins. "We need to get to that star, or we are both going to die, do you understand me? Minion!"

Perhaps the tenor of _composed and articulate reason_ in her voice shook him from his stupor, perhaps it was because his arm was at danger of being pulled from its socket. Whatever it was, he finally started to move, and Caprifexia pressed her hand against the star just as the fog overtook them.

They both collapsed onto sand, panting as the whispers finally receded.

"What the fuck was that?" panted Einar. "What the fuck was that?

"An Old God," replied Caprifeixa sprawling on the ground and staring up at the twin moons above her, shining brightly even in the desert twilight. "The beings that corrupted my Flight; or something like them. Don't you listen min- Ei-nar?"

"How- how did they get to the in-between place? Oh Divines, what if it comes through!?"

"That isn't a pocket dimension, that was the Void. And if they could enter as easily as us we'd all be dead," said Caprifexia, contemplating telling him about what she had seen once she'd peered past the mental compulsion.

That would really scare him, she thought with a smile, and opened her mouth when another thought struck her.

She had grown up understanding the horrors of the Void, they had guided her, moulded her – and she had recovered herself despite that. But that was only because she was a dragon, possessing a mind labyrinthine in its complexity compared to Einar's. It had taken centuries before her father had succumb to the whispers, before the Old Gods had gained a foothold in her flight.

If she revealed what that place was really like, then it was very likely that his fragile mortal sanity would snap. She'd seen it often enough in the mortal cultists who had served her flight. Especially if they ventured there again, which they'd have to if they wanted to get back to either of their homes.

She shut her mouth quickly, feeling queasy.

'I don't want to lose Einar, Einar is my friend,' said a small voice in the back of her head.

It might already be too late, she realised with a start, he had seen one of them. His sanity was probably already slipping.

"Divines, the whispers," said Einar, shivering despite the balmy afternoon air and drawing his knees to his chest. "They're so… so cold."

"Ei-nar," she said seriously as she realised what she had to do, taking his head in her hands. "I need to burn out part of your brain."

"What?" he said. "No fucking way. I'm not letting you mess around with my head!"

"If I don't, you'll go insane. Mortals are not equipped to deal with the true nature of the Void. I need to remove those whispers, and I need to do it now, before they spread."

"Do you even have the slightest idea what you're doing?" he said, pulling her hands off his temples and shuddering and glancing across at something that wasn't there. "No, no – get out of my head, get out of my head!"

"Einar. You must let me repair your mind; I've read how to do it in a book. I can do this."

His hands trembled around her wrists. Caprifexia rolled her eyes, he was such a drama queen.

"Akatosh, you heard these from when you were a baby?"

"Yes, until very recently. If I don't get rid of them for you, they will never, ever, ever go away. I've seen what they do to mortals," she said, before her voice cracked under some strange kind of emotion that arched in her chest and she found she didn't care for in the slightest. "Please,Ei-nar, please trust me – you matter to me, I don't want you to die. Every moment we delay they infect more and more of your mind."

Her cheeks burned with shame at engaging in such touchy feely mortal nonsense, and she was glad that if she succeeded he wouldn't remember her being so weak.

Einar scrunched up his eyes, before releasing her wrists. "Divines, just do it, make them stop."

"You cannot resist me, understand? If you do, I might damage your mind – well, more than otherwise."

"OK, OK," he said with a gulp.

"The book I read said the spell inflicted more damage if the victim was agitated. So try doing the opposite of that," she said, before placing her hands on his temples and closing her eyes.

"Victim!?"

"Just shut up and relax Einar," she said, running through her head how to do the spell properly again and drawing on her magic. "Mentus."

Immediately she found herself swimming in a sea of thoughts. Despite what she often said, Einar wasn't a fool, and his mind showed it. There was a constant stream of ideas, bubbling away in the back of his mind. New plots, new ploys, hopes and dreams for the future.

There were also regrets, and anger. She caught a flicker of a towering man she somehow knew was his father, and the sharp pain associated with it. She saw a flash of a small girl with his hair, lying in a pool of her own blood…

Caprifexia drew away, feeling embarrassed for a reason she couldn't quite identify.

No, focus, she told herself, she needed to get rid of the Old God Corruption before it spread further.

She drew closer to the stream once more, working slowly and methodically to identify the places where Void energy was leaking into his mind, removing every last memory of the Old God's appearance, double checking she had caught everything before she withdrew from his mind and centred herself back in her body.

"Ugh," said Einar. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"Some kind of desert," said Caprifexia, wiping away a non-existent tear from her eye and looking around at the rolling dunes cast orange in the light of the rising sun. It was rather pretty, and would be a good place for a nap.

"But- we were- you'd just saved that lady's bag..." he said, trailing off as he stared down at where it was slung around his waist. "What in Oblivion is going on? Why do I have the bag?"

"I took an executive decision and accepted it as a mandatory donation."

"Stole you mean?"

"Heroes don't steal. They redistribute. Heroically."

"Whatever," he said, opening it. "Hey, nice, there is loads of money in here… but hold on, why don't I remember any of this? Did I get hit on the head?"

"No. I needed to burn out part of your brain to stop you going insane," she said. "It seems that I may have destroyed a bit more than I intended."

"You did what?"

"Calm down Ei-nar, everything is fine."

"You- you- you little bitch," he said, glaring at her. "Who said you could mess around with my head?"

"I don't like your tone, minion," she said, glaring back at him. "And you did, you silly hairless ape."

"That doesn't sound like something I would agree to. I don't remember doing that."

"That is rather the point," she said in an exasperated tone. "Perhaps I should have let your tiny little mortal mind snap? Let you turn into a gibbering wreck? You certainly wouldn't be so lippy."

They glared at each other for a few more moments, before Einar sighed and rubbed his temples.

"OK. Assuming I believe you, what happened? Last thing I remember we were in Astapor."

"We were in the Void, and were attacked by something called an Old God. I saved you."

"Are you sure you didn't just do something silly and don't want me to remember it?"

"I do not do 'silly things,'" she said, balling her hands into fists. "And I did save you! I did! I did! I did! I did!"

"All right, all right" he said holding up his hands in surrender in the face her overwhelming rhetorical skill. "Thanks for saving me I guess."

"There, that wasn't difficult was it minion?" she said, before clearing her throat and adding in a slightly lower voice. "I'm just amazed it worked at all, I've only read a chapter summary on offensive mind magic for use in torture. I was mostly making it up as I went along."

"Moving quickly on from the terrifying implications of that, can you tell me anything at all?"

"The Old Gods are creatures of the Void so terrible that they drive people to madness simply by being observed. The memory of them acts like a kind of foothold into the mind, from which they can spread their corruption."

"The Void?"

"The thing you foolishly call the 'in-between' place."

"Since when are we calling it the Void?"

"Since I deduced it's true nature with my cunning and genius."

"Was this something from the part of my brain you 'cauterised?'"

"Yes."

"Are you OK?"

"Of course. I am a dragon."

"I thought you said that they drove people insane simply by looking at them."

"I am a dragon."

"And?"

"That means that my mind is almost infinite in it's complexity compared to your own limited and generously termed 'intelligence.'"

"That's nonsense. I mean, you're smart, but you're also not nearly as clever as you think you are," he said. "And hold on, didn't you say 'Old Gods' corrupted your people a while back?"

"Over the course of centuries. We are not fragile little mortals, we are dragons – the apex of life in not only the universe, but the multiverse. Immortal creatures of magic so powerful as to be beyond anything your limited mortal mind could comprehend-"

"Riiiight," he said, cutting her off mid sentence. "Just tell me if your going all axe-crazy again, all right? It's pretty difficult to tell apart from your 'heroic' persona – I might not notice."

"You are not very good at humour minion," she said with a huff.

"I wasn't joking."


	5. The Lupine Sobriety Stratagem

Harsh sun blasted down on Einar as he trudged over seemingly endless dunes while Caprifexia flapped lazily along beside him, gliding on the heavy thermals.

"Ugh," he said, wiping some sweat out of his eyes. "And you're _sure _you can't make another portal?"

"I told you, I'm tired," she snapped. "You're the one who said you wanted to visit the desert."

"What? When did I say that?"

"Oh … that must have been in part of your brain that I burnt out."

Caprifexia wasn't keen to venture back to the hellscape that the space between worlds had been revealed to be once she'd broken the perception filter, or at least enough of it to see the corruption everywhere.

"But you're making loads of ice, how can you not make a portal?" he said, holding up the chunk she had conjured for him a few minutes beforehand to get him to stop whinging about the delightful heat, and which he had been pressing against his neck.

"That's different," she said.

"What? How?"

"Because I'm the wizard and I say so."

She wasn't actually _entirely _sure why the opening of portals seemed to be qualitatively different to the rest of her magic – she didn't seem to actually be channelling energy anywhere when she opened the portals, which is one of the reasons she had _some __very __small difficulty_ in conjuring them.

"And you're sure the oasis you saw isn't a mirage?"

"Of course I am," she said. "Unlike you squishy water-filled mortal bipeds, my kind thrives in the heat."

They trudged onward, arriving some half an hour later at a small pond of water surrounded by rocky outcroppings that provided deep shade. There wasn't even a hint of plant life, which was a bit strange, nor were there any of the usual horrific _bugs _that usually lived around sources of desert water. Not that Caprifexia was complaining, a world without bugs seemed all right in her books.

Einar moved immediately to the crystal clear water, dunking his entire head before stripping out of his sweat-laden clothes and jumping in.

Caprifexia on the other hand didn't like water at the best of times, and instead flapped over to one of the sunnier outcroppings, intending to have a well deserved nap in the blistering sun after an exhausting day.

The encounter in the Void had shaken her, and she was not looking forward to going back in there now that she could see it more for what it was.

Moreover she was confused, despite travelling through the Void several times, the domain of the Old Gods, she had not heard the whispers until one of them had gotten close. And even then, it hadn't been anything like what they had been like living on Azeroth.

Something had happened to her when she'd first summoned up a portal to the Void, something more than just losing her homeworld, something _fundamental._

A pity she didn't have the first idea how to actually go about researching herself.

Resolving not to think about it anymore she found a nice flat part of the rock near the top of the sunny side, and was just settling down and about to close her eyes when something caught her attention in rock. It was faded picture of some kind of winged humanoid, below which was faint, but still legibly a script of some kind, a simple message of six pictographs repeated over and over and over again.

_The angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close, the angles do not add up, the circle does not close._

She contemplated this for a few moments before shrugging and closing her eyes.

"Mortals are weird," she muttered to herself, before falling into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Capri!" came a plaintive cry, waking her from her slumber.

The sun was setting, casting the dunes and rock in a purple glow. The desert was beginning to grow cold, and although Caprifexia wasn't particularly bothered, she wasn't a squishy mortal after all, she did _prefer _the warmth to the cold.

"Capri!" came another Einar-like cry.

"Ugh," she said, stretching and yawning before flapping down towards the cry. "What?"

"There you are!" he said huffily. "I thought you'd abandoned me."

"I was sleeping," she said.

Some small part of her felt vaguely hurt that Einar thought she might just abandon him, but Caprifexia quickly pushed the confusing feeling away and replaced it with the far more comfortable irritation at being woken up.

"Well wake up you lazy dragon, there is something you need to see," he said, beckoning her over to a small crack in the rock. "I was exploring and… come see for yourself."

Caprifexia landed on his shoulder as they entered the dimly lit fissure. Like the area she had been sleeping there were inscriptions on the walls, another set of repeating characters beneath a winged figure.

_They are already in, we cannot get out, they are already in, we cannot get out, they are already in, we cannot get out, they are already in, we cannot get out, they are already in, we cannot get out, they are already in, we cannot get out._

"No that isn't- wait, is that writing?" he said, pausing. "Can you read it?"

"Of course."

"I've been meaning to ask – how exactly can you do that?"

"I am a dragon," she explained.

Einar groaned. "That doesn't- no, you know what, fine – what does it say?"

"'_They are already in, we cannot get out,'" _she translated. "There was another one, near where I was napping: _'The angles do not add up, the circle does not close.' _Andit had the same picture of the winged mortal."

"Creepy," he said with a shiver.

The cave went quite deep, and twisted about on itself several times, and as they went further and further in there was more evidence of previous habitation. More phrases repeated over and over, and, here and there, faded and worn pieces of wood that might have once been a structure littering the floor and occasionally bolted to the walls with rusted pieces of metal.

Then they took a sharp turn, and came upon five bodies of some kind of lizardmen type creatures.

They had clearly been there a long time since their scaly skin completely dried out. Their faces, reptillian and therefore easier to understand, were contorted into looks of terror, and their eyes had been scratched out – by their own talons, judging by the gore on their hands.

"These poor bastards must have been the ones who wrote those messages," said Einar, squatting down next to them.

"Why exactly did you think this important enough to wake me up for?" said Caprifexia. "Some dead mortals? Big deal – that's what mortals do, they die: it's in the name."

"Capri –you're a hero, _apparently_, remember? Heroes care about people dying."

"Oh… yes, terrible, just terrible – a real tragedy. Damn you cruel yet entirely predictable and inevitable fate! Damn you entropy! Damn you!" said Caprifexia, shaking a taloned paw for a moment. "But what am I supposed to do about it?"

"I wanted your opinion – you are, despite everything, a far better wizard than me."

"Well of course, I am a dragon."

"Tell me then, little Ms. Wizard, why is there no rot?"

Caprifexia frowned. "What?"

"Rot and decay," said Einar pedantically. "Those are the results of tiny living organisms breaking down dead tissue – right?"

Caprifexia scrunched up her eyes and accessed some of her ancestral memories.

They weren't as good as learning something herself, and she had to consciously reach for them, which meant that she couldn't really use them to synthesise new insights until she went through them bit by tedious bit to put them into her own memories, but they meant that dragons didn't need to spend the first twenty years of their existence learning to read, write, and do mathematics like some kind of pathetic mortal.

"Right, OK," she said after she had run through some basic biological concepts. "So what?"

"They've just dried out. That's it. And since we arrived here we haven't seen a single skerrick of life, have we? This is an oasis, but there aren't any plants, not even some moss – _why_?"

"Minion, you are being boring. What does it matter?"

"Capri – everythingon this world is dead. _Everything_. There are no plants, no insects, no _bacteria_. Aren't you the least bit curious what happened to these people?"

"Not really-" she began, before she remembered she was the Saviour of the Multiverse now,, and she needed to care. "I mean- yes, of course, a few dead mortals? By the Titans! How will I sleep at night unless I uncover the reason for this totally unexpected turn of events?"

"Real smooth," said Einar drily. "So can you cast some kind to spell to see if we can work out how they died?"

"Of course," said Caprifexia, raising her claw and focusing her magic. _"Diagnóstico." _Then she blinked in surprise as impressions and information filtered into her mind. "_Huh_."

"What is it?"

"Void energy," she said. "They were exposed to massive quantities of Void energy."

She turned the spell away from the corpses, scanning the wood.

"Residue in the wood too," she said. "Everything has been saturated – the life just ripped out."

"Is it dangerous?"

"No, it has dissipated," she said. "A while ago – maybe three or four years."

"So this world was scoured of all life less than a decade ago?" he said. "By the Void? Maybe those Old Gods?"

Caprifeixa turned the wall, reading another of the messages.

_It is inside me, it is inside me, it is inside me._

* * *

Caprifexia grimaced as she stepped into the Void and hundreds of eyes swivelled towards her. There were no whispers, thankfully, but the thought that somewhere out in the hellish non-euclidean realm there was at least one Old God was enough to mildly perturb even a dragon.

"What's wrong?" asked Einar, glancing around, the perception filter saving his tiny little mortal mind from unravelling.

"Nothing," she said. "Come on. And be quicker about it this time you lazy mortal – otherwise I might have to burn out more of your brain."

Thankfully her minion's map made it easy enough to get back to Nirn, and as she stepped through a portal into the chilly windswept tundra she let out a sigh of relief.

To their south lay the still rather charred town of Whiterun. Although the local mead-club had succeeded in bringing down the mongrel, it was only after a large swathe of city had been reduced to ash.

"We still need to get that axe sometime," said Einar. "Otherwise Brynjolf-"

"Who?"

"Ugh… _'Binbolf.'"_

"Ah, Binbolf, yes, my other minion," she said. "I wonder how he is doing."

"Capri, you're a 'hero' now, remember? I'm not your minion, and neither is Binbolf."

"Oh yes, I wonder how my other… my other… err?"

"Friend."

"'_Friend'_ is doing, yes," she said, making air-quotes with her talons. "I suppose liberating an axe from the local drinking club is a worthy enough quest."

"Drinking club? What drinking club?"

"The 'Comparisons' or whatever they're called."

"The _Companions _are a bunch of elite mercenaries, it is not a drinking club."

"I don't think that's right. You're probably misremembering things," she said.

"I'm not, and also, we're stealing it, not liberating it."

"Didn't you tell me off for that just yesterday?"

"_I'm _not a hero; I've never claimed to be."

"Oh… that isn't very fair," she said.

It took them nearly half an hour to make it to the still somewhat crispy Whiterun, which had been rather badly burnt by the proto-drake after Caprifexia had spared it.

The mortal hero responsible for saving the town had been a small shouty elven woman whose apparently 'unique' power seemed to be that she had a voice and could speak loudly. Einar had been very impressed by the tale for reasons that Caprifexia couldn't identify; _she _could shout as well, but he told her off when she did that. It was probably just some weird mortal thing like money, or cheese.

Anyway, all in all, as far as Caprifexia could tell, it had been rather poor heroing. Although the town had been eventually saved, much of the upper district and a swathe of the hilltop fortress had been burnt very badly. Vastly inferior to her own efforts. But then again, she was a dragon – she supposed it wasn't fair to put mortal heroes in the same category as herself.

"OK," said Einar in a hushed tone as they sat down in the corner of the mostly abandoned Bannered Mare Tavern. "We need to plan how to get this axe. Otherwise Brynjolf-"

"Who?"

"'_Binbolf_,' otherwise he will be very annoyed with us – and the thieves guild aren't the best people to get off-side. Any ideas?"

"Fire?"

"No. No fire!" he hissed. "What is it with you and burning things?"

"I am a dragon."

"And what if someone gets hurt? That wouldn't be very heroic."

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

"Greater good? What greater good? We're nicking an axe."

"They're _just _mortals after all, they're just going to die in a couple of decades regardless."

"Hey, _I'm_ a mortal!"

"I'm _painfully _aware."

"You are such a bigot," said Einar rubbing his eyes. "And no, no fire. We need to come up with something less needlessly destructive. Something stealthy."

* * *

"Hello, have you thought about purchasing some life in-sor-ance?" asked Caprifexia as the door to the hall opened.

"You mean 'insurance?'" said the tall dark haired man in fur-lined armour, looking her over with an air of faint disdain.

"That is what I said."

"I didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to try to sell us life insurance," said the man with a snort. "You do know this is Jorrvaskr, right?"

Caprifexia wasn't really sure why someone wouldn't want to sell in-sor-ance to alcoholics, but then again, she wasn't really sure what it was in the first place. She didn't need to. Although many would never have suspected otherwise, she was not actually an in-sor-ance salesdragon. It was, in fact, a clever ruse.

In the planning stages Einar had correctly realised that her peerless guile and incredibly skills of misdirection far exceeded his own, and thus she had been given the most important part of the operation.

Or something like that, she hadn't been really listening to his overly complex plan. Personally, she would have just preferred to set everything on fire.

"It is a strong belief of mine that everyone should have the opportunity to have in-sor-ance," she said. "Even mead enthusiasts. May I come in?"

The man looked confused for a moment, before shrugging and stepping back from the door. "Fine, just don't break anything."

Caprifexia bit back an insult at the _idea _that she would break something, by accident at least, instead nodding her head and smiling, doing her best idiot-mortal impression as they headed inside.

The hall itself was long and smokey, with a fire-pit in the middle surrounded by long tables piled high with food and drink – the club's focus, after all.

On the far wall was a very old axe, the target of the operation. It was slightly magical, but only slightly, and Caprifexia didn't really understand why it was worth stealing.

Still, Binbolf wanted it, and… well she wasn't actually sure why that was a good enough reason to steal it, but Einar probably would have whinged and whinged if she did something more productive, like napping. So here she was, liberating an axe. _Heroically._

"So, what are the premiums?" asked the scruffy mead-conissiour, sitting down and taking a long swig of his horn.

"The what?" said Caprifexia.

"The premiums – how many imperials every month?"

Caprifexia blinked in surprise, realising she had no idea what the man was walking about. This was what she had Einar for – she didn't even really understand what an Imperial _was. _Was it different from a gold coin? And if so, how? She knew that the other city had 'honours' that were made gold – was it like that?

Why did gold even have value to mortals? It had some marginal usefulness in enchanting, although platinum was more thaumically conductive. Einar had tried to explain something about 'use-value' and 'exchange-value' to her once, but it had been confusing and boring, and she hadn't really been listening. Was it because it was shiney? That was probably it, mortals were foolish like that.

"Ten thousand?" she said confidently, picking a number at random.

"You're having a laugh," said the man, taking a long swig from his mug before standing and grabbing her by the arm, beginning to drag her out. "All right, I get it, you wanted to see the hall, but this isn't a tourist attraction-"

"-get your hands off my you mangy mortal drunkard-"

"-hey, stop struggling you damn elf-"

"-how dare you-"

"-ow! She fucking bit me-"

"-I will not be mortal-handled-"

"-don't make me smack you-"

"_-Augis!"_

Fire blossomed from Caprifexia's hand as her patience snapped, smashing into the alcoholic man and sending him flying back – straight into the firepit.

Coals and burning wood went everywhere as the man yelled and rolled from the blaze, both magical and mundane, the fur around his armour spreading flames across the floor.

There was a scraping of steal as the half a dozen or so members of the mead-drinking club drew their weapons, and Caprifexia wondered for a moment if all such groups were so heavily armed, before such musings flew from her mind as the now burning man lunged at her with a ridiculously large sword.

"You'll regret that!" shouted the man, whose armour must have been quite good indeed to ward off a point-blank fireball.

Caprifexia shifted her form, flitting under him as he brought his sword down into the space she had just been occupying and opening her jaws, the mighty furnace is her chest beginning to glow orange through her scales. Einar wouldn't be pleased, but her plan had been better anyway.

"What the fuck?" yelled the man as his sword cut straight through a table and stuck into the floor. "Damn wizards! Get her!"

Caprifexia swooped down, opening her mouth and letting loose a powerful torrent of flame down the length of one of the tables.

She had to dive under a wild swing of an axe, and crashed into a float of gravy, sending the sticky liquid flying all over herself and the surrounding area, but managed to return to wing after a few tumbles, spewing more fire wildly as she went. The mead enthusiasts shouted and rushed about, some trying to put out the fires, others chasing after her.

She banked at the end of the table, blasting the axe from it's hangings with magic and in a breathtakingly deft movement caught it in her claws as it fell.

Unfortunately the massive double headed battleaxe was far, far, far too heavy for her small whelpling wings, and she didn't even hold it for a second before tumbling to the ground and smearing gravy along the floor as she rolled.

She heard footsteps behind her as she tried to clear her spinning head, and looked up just in time to see the scruffy, and now smouldering man slip on the watery mess, her incredible draconic foresight once again saving her.

He fell hard, and Caprifexia flapped back into the air, breathing more fire along the upper walls as the silly little mortals rushed about in a frenzy.

The smoke grew thicker and thicker as Caprifexia completed a second and then third pass of the room, landing and switching back to her elven form next to the axe and scooping it up once she was reasonably confident the mortals wouldn't be able to really see her.

A flaming rafter smashed down next to her as she rushed towards the exit, strangely lupine howls echoing behind her as she emerged into the Skyrim air.

"Capri, what the fuck!?" yelled Einar, who was rapidly descending from the side of the burning building, a rope tied around his waist and all manner of thieving equipment slung across his body. "I thought we agreed no fire!"

"That doesn't sound like something I would agree too," she said as he cut himself free from the rope and dropped the last foot or so to the ground.

"And why are you covered in- is that, _gravy_?" he said.

"Shut up minion," she said, tossing him the axe. "Here, carrying things is your job."

"Not your-"

"The wizard has stolen the Axe of Ysmir!" came a bestial sounding voice from inside the smoke. "After her!"

Einar and Capri looked at each other for a moment, before turning and breaking into a run, Caprifexia transforming as she went, flapping up to a safe height as she glanced back and the now collapsing building.

A group of five humanoids, covered in fur and with wolven faces burst from the smoke, loping on all fours.

"Fucking werewolves!?" said Einar in an unusually high voice. "The Companions are _fucking werewolves!?"_

"I'll rip you limb from limb!" snarled the lead pursuer in a surprisingly feminine voice.

"You should try and run faster," said Caprifexia, helpfully, from above Einar.

"Make a damn portal!" yelled Einar as he pelted down the stone path. "Make a damn portal!

"You'll run off the edge of the platform," she said.

"Do you promise you can make it straight away?" he said, glancing over his shoulder at the closing werewolves.

"I am a dragon," she explained confidently.

"If you get me killed…" he said, as he skidded a halt, trembling as he turned to face the angry and apparently moon-cursed mead enthusiasts. "Capri!"

Caprifeixa focused, remembering what it was like to open portals and flexing her will.

Nothing happened.

"_Capri!"_

Caprifeixa redoubled her effort, a tiny, strange, doubt emerging in thee back of her mind, and with it, the realisation that Einar was in rather grave danger, and that although it was _still__ his own responsibility, __she may have been very, very tangentially related__._

"**Capri!"**yelped Einar as the Werewolves leapt.

Straight into a portal.

"See," said Caprifexia, shifting her form to elvish as she landed. "No problem."

"Uh, Capri-"

"You really should know better than to doubt my brilliance by now," she said, pointedly ignoring all the fleshy noises as she walked into the Void and over the eyeballs and tendrils, trying not to slip in her gravy covered boots. "I think that went rather well, if I do say so myself – and I do."

_"_Capri," hissed Einar, grabbing her shoulder pointing to the edge of the Void-platform, where there were two scrambling grey hands attempting to find purchase on some smooth Nordic-themed stone. "Look!"

"Honestly, do I have to do _everything_?" said Capri, stalking over to the edge and raising her foot.

"W-what is going on?" said a short elven woman with greyscale skin and blood red eyes who was desperately trying not to fall, both her hands scrabbling against the rock.

Capri stamped on her left hand, making her let go with a yelp.

"Capri, wait!" cried Einar as Caprifexia lined up her foot over the woman's other hand.

"What is it _now_?"

"You can't just kill someone in cold blood!"

"I… can't?" said Capri slowly, scrunching her face up.

"No!"

"But she tried to kill us. Well you mainly. Still, I think that makes her a villain, which means she deserves _Just-This_," she said, indicating to her shoe. _"'Just-boot_' in this case."

"You're supposed to be a hero! Heroes have mercy!" said Einar.

"I can't have both Just-this _and _Mercy, the first one is an exclusive – it's in the name."

"What- what are you even talking about?" said Einar, before he looked down at the struggling elven woman and blanched. "_D-dovahkiin?"_

"What's a 'Proto-drake-born?'" said Caprifexia, translating Einars rather terribly pronounced proto-drake. "Is this another one of your silly superstitions?"

_"Dragonborn;_ a mortal with the soul of a dragon; honestly don't you pay any attention to what I tell you-"

"Oh, so she's a proto-drake in elven form?" said Caprifexia, raising a boot over the woman last slipping hand. "Hah! I've been wanting to do this for ages! Say goodbye, you pathetic villainous imitation of a true dragon!"

"What are you- _no!_" said Einar, lunging for her as her foot descended.

He was too slow, however, and Caprifexia's boot smashed into the woman's remaining hand a moment before he tackled her to the side.

"Unhand me!" she said, pushing him off her as a terrified scream began to move swiftly away. "You might be my min- my '_friend_,' but I am still a dragon! I will not be mortal-handled!"

"Divines – Capri, what have you done!? _What have you done!?_" screamed Einar as he scrambled towards the edge of the platform that was now notably lacking the tips of any grey fingers.

"Defeated a Villain," she said. _"Heroically._"

"_She _was the hero. The only person who could properly slay dragons! And you've killed her!"

"I'm sure everything will be fine," said Caprifexia, picking herself up and looking over the edge at the rapidly fading elf-shaped spec, beyond which were a few other tiny humanoid shapes. "They are just proto-drakes – what's the worst they could do?"

"Destroy Skyrim! Destroy Nirn!"

"Pah! I doubt it – if my father, a proper dragon, couldn't destroy Azeroth, then an overgrown lizard isn't going to be able to destroy your world, admittedly inferior as it is," said Caprifexia. "You know, I think I'm getting rather good at this hero business. What's that? My tenth villain defeated in less than a week?"

"No! Not 'nine villains!' A petty thief who you tripped, four guards trying to stop you stealing an old woman's bag, and five Companions trying to catch you for burning down their hall and stealing their axe. Oh– and one of them was the _saviour of Nirn!_" said Einar, pulling at his hair. "I was going to sneak in and take the axe without them noticing while you distracted them. No one was going to die! Nirn wasn't going to be doomed! The Thieves guild would have just ransomed the axe back to them, and that would have been that!

"But no! You had to set the entire fucking place on fire and kill five of the greatest warriors in Skyrim! You're not a hero, your a menace! A tiny, megalomaniacal, sociopathic, bigoted, irresponsible, scaly little menace! Even the Dark Brotherhood doesn't cause as much chaos as you do!"

"Calm down _Ei-nar," _she said, wiping gravy off her face. "I know you're a mortal, and thus can't be expected too much of, but you're becoming hysterical."

"Don't you tell me to calm down, this is a disaster!" he said, squelching back and forth over the fleshy void tendrils.

"Everything will be fine. If these so-called _'dragons'_ are such a big deal I can deal with them myself – in fact, that sounds like a worthy quest for a hero of my stature. Without that usurper I will be able to focus fully on carving out my heroic legend on this pathetic backwater!"

"'Carve out a legend?' You won't last a _minute _against a fully grown dragon."

"Honestly Ei-nar, are all mortals so dim? You just observed me heroically defeat the woman who apparently slew some of them, effortlessly I might add – I, therefore, am clearly more powerful than they are," said Caprifexia, shaking some increasingly cold gravy off her fingers. "It's simple logic."

"You are completely delusional! That was _luck _and because you caught her off-guard by using magic no one has ever seen before," said Einar. "Those creatures you call 'proto-drakes' are about a hundred times your size and better at magic than you – and there are dozens and dozens and dozens of them!"

"Perhaps. But as a _true_ dragon I have an unbeatable advantage."

"And what is that?"

"I," she said, pausing briefly for dramatic effect. "Am a _genius_."

Einar hit his head against one of the nearby crumbling pillars.


	6. A Mutually Beneficial and Totally Amicable Relationship Termination

Einar shivered, pulling his cloak higher as a frigid gust of wind blew across the tundra of the southern Pale, and his horse descended the last few steps from the Whiterun pass, the ground levelling out and stretching off towards the distant peaks of the Windhelm Range.

The Hold of Dawnstar was one of the most desolate areas of Skyrim, and not the sort place he would visit by choice, especially not in late autumn.

He had bought the bay mare with a fraction of 'his share' of the loot of the several stress inducing months of shenanigans and trying to keep that blasted lizard out of trouble.

It was a period that even now, less than a week after leaving the meglomaniacal flying reptile behind, he was still in two minds about.

On one hand, he was now richer than he ever had been before. It was a novel and welcome feeling after having scraped by on petty theft and the odd, usually shady, job for the past decade.

On the other, his world was quite possibly doomed because the juvenile monster had a complete lack of grasp on even the most basic points of honour and decency, and had slain the Saviour of Nirn because she thought for some reason it was 'heroic' to stomp a defenceless woman off a cliff into the void.

His horse stumbled in a pot hole, and Einar winced at where the burnt skin on his arm pulled as he jerked up to keep his saddle.

Capri hadn't been happy to see him leave.

No, that was understating it, she'd been apoplectic.

Although he was reasonably sure she hadn't been trying to kill him, she had still thrown around enough fire during her temper tantrum when he had told her he was leaving that he was glad that the tundra in autumn wasn't particularly flammable.

Still, some part of him still felt bad for leaving her back in Whiterun. She was, after all, just a baby; completely erratic, often irrational, and with a severely underdeveloped sense of right and wrong.

That was fine for human kids, but Capri wasn't a human kid, she was almost a meter of super-magical fire-breathing lizard capable of walking through the void, hurling boulder shattering magic around on a whim, and totally and utterly convinced that she was not only the smartest being the multiverse, but also the wisest. It made for a rather deadly and chaotic combination.

He'd told himself she'd been getting better under his guidance. She'd stopped calling him 'Minion,' more or less, and he thought she might have been showing the beginnings of actual empathy towards people she regarded as 'inferior beings' - i.e. everyone who wasn't a 'proper dragon.'

But then she had burnt down the companion's hall and killed the Dovahkiin while doing a mission that, in reality, only he actually cared about.

It had been a wake up call. It had made him realise that he'd been kidding himself to think he had been curbing her destructive impulses, channelling her into becoming a decent sapient being, or at the very least, not a omnicidal maniac. He hadn't been doing that at all, all he'd been doing was setting up opportunities for her to wreak havoc; opportunities that had been, if he was honest with himself, mainly aimed at enriching himself.

From the city of Astapor an infinity away where she'd hurled half a dozen guards into the void, to Riften where she had set the honey farm on fire and gotten the manager arrested for 'insurance fraud,' to Jorrvaskr – they were all situations created by him. The worst she had managed before meeting him was breaking some Nord's nose in Helgen.

She didn't care about money, she didn't even really understand the concept. In fact, she didn't really care about anything other than herself. Certainly not him, she'd made it pretty abundantly clear that she regarded him as a tool, not a friend. A minion, not an equal.

She was probably already on some other world, curled up in a ball and napping in the sunshine; she could well have already forgotten his name.

Maybe in a hundred years or however long it took for her to properly mature she could be a real hero, but until then it was in everyone's best interests that she just stayed out away from civilised lands.

He would just have to try and clean up her mess himself, which was why he was headed northward, to Winterhold and the largest library in Skyrim; if there was any information to be had that might help defeating the Dragons in the absence of a Dovahkiin, it would be there.

He hoped.

The sun was just setting as he came into what had once been a small town, but had swollen several times over with a large influx of imperial troops.

They had brought with them the usual amenities of Cyrodillian civilisation – well maintained roads, impressive square palisade forts, neat lines of standard issue tents, and that perhaps most ubiquitous symbol of the Empire, a set of full gallows.

Stormcloaks, or their sympathisers.

Or perhaps just those unlucky enough to have looked the wrong way at some young commissioned Cryodillian noble.

"Papers," said a soldier from Hammerfall as he approached the checkpoint outside the town.

Einar grunted in response, fishing out the forged documents he'd had made in Riften back before he'd undertaken the world-dooming quest to steal the axe of Ysmir, what felt like years ago.

"Business in the Pale?"

"Heading for the College," he answered honestly.

"For?"

"Trying to find some way to fight the damn dragons."

"Should be more worried about your Empire," said the man, thrusting Einar's papers back towards him. "About fighting those Stormcloak traitors."

"I did my time," replied Einar, flicking the reigns. "I'll worry about them when they can shout a village to ash."

He slept fitfully that night, memories and disturbing images from the darker recesses of his imagination blending together into a whirlwind of falling Dunmer women, his father returning home in bloodied leather armour and a string of elf ears around his neck, and endless fields of bones and sand and ash, above which soared a winged creature that cast a seemingly endless shadow again a blood red sun.

The days rolled on, turning colder and colder as Einar left behind the Pale and reached the shores of Lake Yorgrim, the road becoming busier the closer he got to Windhelm until he was coming across several Stormcloak patrols a day. Since he was a Nord they paid him little mind, something he was glad of, since he probably still had an arrest warrant or two out for him in the hold.

It had been quite some time since he'd been so far north, and although the landscape was just as bleak and frigid as ever, change was obvious.

The most obvious signs of suffering were the burnout townships. Some, he suspected, were the result of the civil-war, which although calming down now that the autumn snows were starting, had raged viciously over the summer between the Imperial aligned Pale and the heart of Ulfric's power in Windhelm.

Others, however, bore the clear scars of dragons. Men didn't gouge foot deep rents into rock, nor make fire so hot that even the most sturdy stone temples came to resemble the cooled flows of lava he had seen when he'd visited Morrowind several years earlier.

Some of the attacks were old, but others clearly recent. And while it was unlikely that even had the Dovahkiin still been alive she would have stopped those attacks in particular, he couldn't help but feel at responsible for the stands of ash where houses had once stood.

Dragons and civil wars, however, weren't the only causes of suffering. The combined forces of nature and good old xenophobia also conspired to create misery.

Camps of refugees from Morrowind that sprawled out around once-sleepy lakeside hamlets dominated large sections of the road. Thin canvas tents ripped, torn, and covered in ash seemed to be the only shelter they had, and looked to do next to nothing to ward off the autumn chill. He shuddered to think what it would be like for them once the true winter came.

The destitute Dunmer looked at him with tired red eyes, gaunt faces, and open hands, and by the time the road forked and he continued his trek northward his coin-purse was lighter, and his heart heavier.

Things became quieter as the road wove it's way into the icy wastes of Winterhold, the nights turning frigid as soon as he crossed over the pass and descended towards the frozen coastline of the Sea of Ghosts before turning due north.

People said that all of Skyrim was remote and rugged, but Winterhold was unlike anything he, a boy from the Reach, had ever seen.

Great cliffs rose up to never-ending snow-capped peaks in the east, and plunged down into the furious waters in the west. Here and there a few copses of hardy trees clung to life in the most rugged of all the holds of Skyrim, and in places the ill-kept and ill-frequented road disappeared entirely.

More than once he had to carefully cross frozen rivers which ran only at the height of summer where the bridges had long since collapsed. He might be able to understand how mages, who could reshape the world around them with their mind, might choose to live in such a place, but why anyone else made their lives in the Hold he had no idea.

The road was completely and totally empty, with no set of tracks in either direction. At night the only sounds were the occasional howl of a wolf, the bray of a fat Walrus on the rocky coastline below, and the howl of the ceaseless wind. Einar found himself missing not only Capri's company – prickly and capricious as it might have been – but her skill with pyromancy.

It wasn't until he was a few days out from the frigid college that he saw another soul.

He had broken camp for the night, and was trying to coax a fire into existence with a handful of semi-frozen pine needles and twigs he had managed to scrounge when he heard the crunch of snow.

He whirred around, dagger half drawn from its sheath, expecting to find a hungry wolf. Instead his eyes fell on a comely Imperial woman in a very tight scarlet dress.

She had long, shimmering black hair, sparkling yellow eyes that seemed to glow in the firelight, and blood red lips.

Despite the cold and the flimsy state of her clothes she didn't shiver, and instead gave him a wide smile that made him weak at the knees.

Part of his mind found it odd that she didn't seem cold, but the larger part of his mind pushed that thought aside as he sheathed his dagger and returned her smile.

"P-please, join me," he stammered, not quite believing what was happening to him. It was like everything was a dream. The world seemed to shift and wobble, although he was sure he hadn't drunk any alcohol. Perhaps it was simply his nerves. It had been a long time since he had found a woman so overwhelmingly attractive…

"How kind of you," said the woman huskily, licking her cherry red lips delicately. "I, am Maria."

"E-Einar," he said. "Would you like some of my… stew?"

"Ah – no thank-you," she said, flicking her eyes briefly to the pot full of greyish goop before back up to his face. "I wouldn't want to… spoil my appetite."

That made Einar frown for a moment, before he relaxed.

It didn't matter.

Everything was fine.

All that mattered was that he was going to get to spend more time in this amazing woman's company.

"You look cold my lady," he said, standing and rushing to his saddlebag. "Let me get you a blanket."

"Why, how gallant of you," laughed the woman as he moved away, returning a moment later with his sleeping roll, her eyes flicking down to his neck as he drew close.

He stilled, frowning ever so slightly as that nagging part of his mind reasserted itself once more as she reached up towards his face.

Something was wrong, he thought as Maria pulled his head to one side and moved to… kiss his neck?

Well, no, that was fine, he certainly wasn't opposed to such a lovely woman doing that, he thought, as his heart pounded in his chest and she bared her unusually sharp teeth.

"Augis!" came a squeaky shout from above them, and Maria's gaze snapped upward, inches from his neck, as a ball of fire rocketed down from the frozen canopy.

Her eye-brows shot up as the ball of mage-fire careened towards her, and she began to move – impossibly quickly.

Even her breathtaking speed, however, was not quite enough, and the fireball caught her in the arm and sent her spinning into the snow as a black blur rocketed down from the branches, spewing more fire as Maria roared in pain and anger.

Einar saw red, drawing his dagger and slashing at the blur as it passed, eliciting a yelp of surprise from the creature that dared attack his lady as the blade caught it in the leg and sent it crashing into the white powder, the frozen water immediately beginning to melt and steam wherever the monster's deep red blood dripped onto it.

"You foolishmortal!" came a familiar voice as the lizard's head emerged from the snow, spitting crystals. "I'm trying to save you!"

Einar paused. He knew that voice…

"Einar kill it! Kill it!" yelled Maria clutching her burnt arm and baring her fangs at the interloping flying lizard.

The voice of his lady shook him from his stupor and he raised his dagger, setting his jaw as he advanced on the lizard.

"Oh for fuck's sake," said the strangely familiar reptile as it flapped up into the air again, darting out of his reach. "_Nubilas_."

Choking smoke billowed out from the flying lizard, and Einar doubled over, coughing and pressing himself against the ground as the acrid gas stung at his eyes and burned his throat.

"That won't work on me," hissed his lady from somewhere behind him. "I can still hear you, little lizard – _Frosset_!"

A spear of ice rocketed through the smoke over Einar's head, and there was a squawk of outrage, although, unfortunately, no sound of impact.

"Listen to this then, you bloated corpse!" retorted the lizard. "_Rudiat_!"

There was a deafening boom, followed by an immense, ongoing cacophony of discordant sound.

If Einar had had to describe it, he would have said it sounded vaguely like a thousand cats being drowned, combined with an orchestra of deaf musicians all playing different pieces at the end of the world; only much, much worse.

He dropped his dagger, jamming his fingers in his ears as the noise pressed down on him, so loud he could almost taste it.

He felt blasts of heat and cold pass back and forth over his head a few times, before something heavy fell behind him, thrashing about for a few moments before growing still.

The smoke faded, revealing a pile of ash spilling out of a slightly charred red dress, and Einar felt his mind begin to clear, his memory of the previous few minutes beginning to snap together into something approaching coherence.

"Vampire," he gasped as he realised what he was looking at, or at least, he thought he did. It wasn't really possible to hear over the racket; whatever horrific magic Capri had cast was still going on and making it difficult to hear himself think, let alone speak.

He turned around, his heart catching in his chest as he saw the small drake on the other side of the clearing, glaring at him as deep crimson blood oozed from a wound on her leg. A wound he had made.

"Shit," he said rushing over to her as the noise-spell mercifully began to fade.

Before he crossed half the distance a wave of force blasted out from her, and he tripped over as the air was knocked from his lungs. Another spell washed over him, and he felt himself being firmly pressed down into the snow, his dagger rocketing out from his sheath a moment later and flying off into the gloom beyond the clearing.

"… weak-willed … pathetic … mortal … fool," said Capri, the ringing in his ears making it difficult to understand the full extent of her abuse as she crawled over, putting her small head up to his face and snapping her needle-sharp teeth millimetres from his nose.

"I said I was sorry!" he said. "Do- do you know any healing magic?"

"… not … ignorant … mortal," said the Whelp, smoke pouring out of her nostrils. "… didn't … my supposed ally to stab me!"

"I said I was sorry, she had me under a spell-"

"I know," spat the angry whelp, releasing the magic and flapping off, settling on the other side of the clearing and licking at her wound. "You mortals are pathetic, honestly, it's almost like you want to get killed. It's a wonder you don't all perish as infants! Maybe I should have let her eat you, I'd probably have been doing the multiverse a favour!"

"What are you even doing here?" he said, his concern fading away under the torrent of abuse and some of the weeks old anger he felt towards the small dragon returning. "Have you been following me?"

"Following you? How preposterous. Dragons do not follow mortals, least of all mean and nasty ones like you!"

"So you just happened to be in the tree above my camp for entirely unrelated reasons?"

"That's right!" declared Capri, nodding her draconic head as if this was an entirely believably explanation for her presence. "Totally unrelated reasons – if anything, I'm suspect of you; what were you doing camping below my tree? Couldn't bear to be out of my awesome presence, I'll bet."

"Right…" said Einar.

Capri snorted, flicking her talons towards his pathetic fire and making it roar into life as she began to pointedly ignore him.

"Why didn't its glamour work on you?" he asked after a few minutes of Capri's patented 'no speaks.'

"I am a dragon."

"Oh of course. I would have also accepted 'because I'm a wizard,'" he said, rolling his eyes as he moved over to the vampire's dress and started sifting through the pockets, drawing out a dusty coin-purse. "Again, why were you following me?"

"I told you, you sieve-brained ape, you just happened to camp under my tree-"

"We both know that isn't true," he said sharply, cutting her off. "And, just so we're clear, this doesn't change anything. You might have saved me, but that doesn't mean what I told you back in Whiterun is any less true: you're toxic Capri, you've quite possible destroyed this world with your chaotic madness."

Capri huffed and went back to staring into the fire for several long minutes, probably trying to come up with some kind of lame excuse. One that she no doubt would believe wholeheartedly was the definition of guile.

"I didn't have anywhere better to go," she said finally in a small voice, apparently finding the task too hard.

"Yeah, not buying that either," he laughed. "You can go anywhere, an infinite number of worlds, why here-"

"You're here!" she said in a strangled voice, making Einar look up to see the tears in her reptilian eyes.

Einar breath caught in his throat, and a bubble of shame worked it's way up to the surface of his mind as her hot tears fell to the snow, bursting into clouds steam.

He'd seen her cry before, when she'd thought she didn't have any kind of purpose, before she'd becoming nominally a 'hero.' But that had been about her, not him, maybe she-

No, he had given her enough chances.

He had been kidding himself again to think she had changed; just because she reminded him a bit of Freya – at least in her 'mortal guise.'

Well, minus the horns and the creepy glowing eyes.

"Wherever you go Capri, chaos follows," he said hardening his heart as he forced himself to remember the burnt out hamlets and melted temples that she'd unintentionally had a hand in. "And there are consequences for what you do-"

"I know that you silly mortal!"

"Do you? Have you seen the burnt out villages? The lines and lines of graves? Do you really understand what not having a Dovahkiin means for Nirn?"

"So there will be a few more angry proto-drakes flapping about-"

"No! No, you damned lizard! The legends say that Alduin, the greatest of the Nirn-Dragons, is destined to eat the world. If that's true, then you could very well have doomed every living being on this planet by killing the one person who could stop him."

"That's just silly mortal superstition," scoffed Capri. "Those Proto-drakes, I will admit, are presently… problematic for me to slay in open combat in the short term – but none of them could hold a candle to my father, and even he didn't manage to destroy my home-world."

"See, here you go again – you don't know anything about this world or it's history; yet you act like you do. If you were a normal kid that would be fine, but you're not, you're a powerful wizard, a dragon; you can't afford to make mistakes – people die when you do."

"So I can't stay with you because of my species?" she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with her tail. "That's discrimination: dragonism. You're a dragonist!"

"That isn't a thing," he said. "And it isn't just that you don't know things; it's that you refuse to learn, and refuse to listen. Maybe I won't live as long as you, maybe I can't shrug off a vampire's mind-magic like it's a light breeze, and maybe you have an incredible intuitive understanding of magic – but that doesn't mean you're somehow a better than everyone else, and it doesn't mean you know everything."

"I know I don't know everything," she snapped. "I know that I don't know how to be a hero – OK? You were supposed to be teaching me, but the moment I made a mistake you started yelling at me and then just abandoned me!"

"You… you 'made a mistake?'" he said, his jaw dropping as he tried to process what she'd just said.

"Of course I did!" she yelled, hot tears spilling from her orange eyes as she smacked her front talons down into the snow and made the fire leap up another meter into the air. "What's so surprising about that!? I'm a whelpling! Of course I make mistakes! You can't judge – when you were my age you were probably still crawling about and soiling yourself! If I was a human child you'd never be so mean, you hate me because I'm a dragon! Dragonist! Dragonist!"

"I don't hate you Capri, and certainly not because you've got scales," he said shakily. "I've just … never heard you admit fault before."

Capri sniffed and looked away. "Dragons aren't supposed to admit fault to mortals. It's weak."

"Says who?"

"Says everyone."

"Capri, by your own admission your people were corrupted and twisted into something dark and nasty – don't you think that maybe their dismissive attitudes towards non-dragons was a part of that?"

"… maybe," she conceded uncertainly, before shaking herself. "Although we are better than mortals at everything."

Einar rolled his eyes. Was he being too harsh, leaving her behind? He had known she'd be fine physically, but he clearly hadn't really understood her emotional dependence on him since it was normally behind an impenetrable layer of arrogance.

And she had grown.

Oblivion, she'd gotten into a mage-duel with a vampire to save him; that was a long way from the dragon that had pushed him towards the Imperial soldiers during their escape from the Helgen gaol. She'd never have gone out on a limb for anyone back then; if he'd attacked her, enthralled or otherwise, he would have instantly been on the receiving end of a fireball.

And it wasn't like she didn't have quite an array of skills, skills that might be able to help him dig the world out of the mess she'd made… well, they'd made.

"OK, OK… I'm sorry if I upset you," he said.

"A mortal like you, upset me?" she said weakly. "R-ridiculous, I am a -"

"-dragon. Yeah, I know," he said. "But I'm still sorry. I thought you… it doesn't matter. I was angry, but- but I wasn't fair to you. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Capri sniffed.

"This is the bit where you say: 'That's OK Einar, we both said things we regret, and I'm sorry I killed the Dragonborn, but I know that together we can try and put this situation back together.'"

"I didn't know it was the wrong thing to do!" she snapped back. "It's so hard to know what I'm supposed to do to be a hero, everything is so complicated with you mortals. I thought heroes were supposed to kill villains!"

Einar sighed.

"I accept your apology," she said snootily. "Even if you are an unapologetic, unreconstructed dragonist. It isn't a good look you know, bigotry; especially coming from a silly little mortal."

"That isn't a- ugh, fine, I suppose that's better than nothing," he said, going back to looting the vampire's remains.

"What are you even doing here?" asked the reptile, apparently just as eager as him to change the subject. "You've seemed very cold the last few nights, I can't imagine it is for pleasure. Then again, you mortals are crazy."

"Heading to Winterhold College – there is a library there, if there is knowledge about how to defeat the dragons-"

"-Proto-drakes-"

"-whatever you want to call them. If there is information on how to do that without the Dovahkiin it will be there," he said, checking another pocket and drawing out a letter. "Huh, what's this?"

The envelope was made from thick, high quality paper. It had been opened, but the design of a snarling, bat-like creature was still visible in the blood-red wax that had been used to seal it. Inside was a slip of paper, filled with neat loopy writing that he couldn't read, but might have been a very old version of Imperial.

"Hey Capri, read this for me?" he said, moving over and passing it to her. She accepted it with her talons, carefully unfolding the letter and holding it up to the light of the campfire.

"'Fledgling Maria,'" began Capri instantly, not even needing a moment to translate from a form of writing she'd probably never seen before – apparently 'because she was a dragon.' "'Your King has need of your service. You are to travel to Winterhold College and search for any leads as to the likely present location of an Elder Scroll. Take care not to arouse suspicion within the college – feed only on townsfolk as absolutely necessary: the Archmage is immensely powerful, and will certainly be able to discern your true nature upon close examination. Avoid him.

"'Once you have completed your research you are to travel south again to Windhelm, in the eastern quarter of the city you will find a house marked with an image of a Winged Woman, enter it and leave your notes with one of the people inside, they will be expecting you. Once you have done so your task is complete, and you may return to your usual hunts until I have further use for you.

"'Do not attack mortals within the house in Windhelm. They serve an ally who is integral to my plans for the Black Sun, and who will be most displeased if her tools are damaged.

"'Do not disappoint me,

"'Lord Harkon.'"

"Huh," said Einar. "What is the 'Black Sun?'"

"I do not know, it does not elaborate," said Caprifexia, handing the note back to him.

"Well it doesn't sound good, whatever it is," said Einar frowning as he ran over the words again in his mind. "Well we should probably look into it when we get to Winterhold; anything that an organised group of Vampires are after can't be good."

"So I can come with you?" said Capri, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes – I'm sorry I left you behind."

Capri grinned like the child she was, and for a moment he thought she was going to hug him. But then the moment passed and her imperious guise reasserted itself.

"As you should be. You will, of course, need my help to clean up this mess you've made."

"Yeah, 'my' mess," he said, snorting at Capri's ability to assert completely counterfactual nonsense and act like she believed it. "Just try not to kill anyone else unless you absolutely have to, all right?"

She gave him a withering look.

Still, for a moment he had seen beneath her draconic arrogance to the lost little child beneath. The child desperately looking for a friend, and who was actually sorry she had upset him. And more than that, he had seen a glimmer of the person she might become if given a chance to grow.

Maybe she did have a lot of blood on her claws for killing the Dovahkiin, maybe she was still an immature megalomaniac, maybe in the end she'd never been the 'Saviour of the Multiverse' she thought she was.

But he wasn't perfect either. He was a thief. He was a liar. And he was a cheat.

He'd mislead Caprifexia into smuggling goods between worlds in 'aid' of making her a 'better hero' when she was supposed to be his friend.

He'd even killed people before – never happily, but he'd still done it.

Maybe all that mattered, maybe all that he could ask of both her and himself was that now they were trying to do the right thing, even if they both didn't always quite know how.

Aedra, after all, weren't the ones who needed redemption.


	7. Prodigal Identity Theft

Caprifexia shifted her form as they approached the frosted stone steps, wincing slightly as her wounded leg twinged from where her incompetent and weak willed ex-minion had slashed her.

Like most Wizard towers, Winterhold College was built in an incredibly precarious place. Surrounded by the angry Sea of Ghosts on all sides, and rising on a pillar of dark rock hundreds of meters high its only connection to the mainland was via a thin crumbling stone bridge.

Soft blue light streamed out of the window of a small guardhouse on the mainland side, and as they approached an elf of some description – no doubt Einar would have some specific label – emerged, shutting a thick and aged tome with a sharp _snap_.

"This is Winterhold College, I am Master Wizard Faralda, one of the instructors," said the elf, her eyes focusing onto Caprifexia's horns and her lip curling ever so slightly. "What is your business?"

"We'd like to use your library," said Einar. "To study dragons; find a way to defeat them."

"Hmm," said Faralda, giving him a critical once over. "The College may have what you seek, but the way is closed to non-mages."

"Ah," said Einar. "That, err, isn't a problem. Caprifexia here is very good at setting things on fire, and I am, err, good at… polymorphism?"

"Really? That is an unusual skill for a novice to focus on," said Faralda, her eyes lighting up with interest. "Please, demonstrate."

Einar turned to Caprifexia and gave her a meaningful stare.

"_Lizardify_," he said seriously.

Caprifexia raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"_Capri_, change your form," he hissed under his breath, before laughing weakly and raising his voice. "Stage fright, I, err, guess, this normally never happens. Straight into a lizard, that's- heh- that's what happens. Almost always."

"I am _not _a lizard," she hissed back. "This is blatant dragonism, you silly looking, dim-witted, bigoted little mortal ape."

"That isn't a thing. Don't be difficult," whispered Einar. "_Please_."

"Take your time, there is no rush," said Faralda.

Einar glared at Caprifexia, thrusting his hands towards her again. _"Lizardify."_

Caprifexia rolled her eyes, shifting herself into her true form.

"Remarkable!" said Faralda, clapping her hands. "I've never seen magic like that from a novice before! Are you sure you've not attended another college?"

"Err – no."

"Amazing. Prodigal even!"

"Err, um, yes – that's me, Einar, the prodigal mage… heh," he said awkwardly, rubbing his elbow.

"But-" spluttered Caprifexia, not sure if she was more outraged at the idea that Einar was prodigal at anything, or that he was stealing credit for her spell.

"_Capri_," hissed Einar, putting his hand over her maw and whispering in her ear. "I can't cast _any _magic, remember? I need you to play along so I can get into that library, understand?"

Caprifexia huffed, shifting back a moment later.

"And you?" said Faralda. "Can you use magic?"

"Of course. I'm the _real _prodigy," said Caprifexia, summoning some fire to her hand with a flick of her wrist.

"Not a bad fireball I suppose," sniffed Faralda, clearly unimpressed. "But nothing like your friend's magic."

"But he-"

"_But_ he… is a friend, and it isn't a competition," said Einar, putting his hand over her mouth again.

Capreifexia glared at him as the mage turned, leading them across the crumbling icy bridge that in most places lacked hand-rails. Since Caprifexia could fly she wasn't that bothered by it, but she couldn't fathom why such aerially challenged creatures would ever make so something so patently unsafe.

Inside there some kind of spell keeping the inner courtyard warm, along with a host of other spells on the gate that Caprifexia couldn't immediately identify; because she couldn't be bothered, of course – not because of any lack of magical ability. The very suggestion of which would have been, obviously, absurd.

The warmth meant, however, that the light snowfall melted as soon as it entered the arcane field, turning the entire inner courtyard rather damp and misty. Hopefully they also had some kind of spell to repel insects, otherwise Caprifexia was sure that the doubtlessly creep-crawly infested vegetation would mysteriously spontaneously combust in a matter of hours.

"This is the Hall of Elements," said Faralda. "It is where most of the college's lectures and meetings are conducted."

"And where is the library? That's all we came here for," said Caprifexia.

"It is above the main hall," said Faralda with a slight scowl. "But there is an Alteration lesson about to start in a few minutes, I should take you there – we can finish the tour later."

"I'd rather go to the library," said Caprifexia.

"That attitude is probably why you're not nearly as good at magic as your friend," sniffed the Wizard.

"How _dare_ you? You insolent, pointy earred-"

"She means, you're right – she should definitely focus more on her studies," said Einar, clamping his hand over Caprifexia's mouth for the third time in as many minutes.

"_Mmrph!"_ protested Caprifexia, forcing herself to remember that she was a hero, and that heroes were boring and didn't set rude mortals on fire.

Still, it was tempting, and surely a hero couldn't be expected to refrain from such things _all _the time…

_Surely_ there was space for a bit of burning insolent mortals within the scope of heroism?

Faralda however, removed the possibility as she raised an imperious eye-brow, sniffing derisively before opening the door and moving out of range of Caprifexia's righteous fire.

She got lucky.

"Capri," hissed Einar, distracting her from her righteous anger. "What am I going to do? I can't do magic!"

"You're a '_prodigy,'"_ snickered Caprifexia. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Are you seriously annoyed that in order to get into a library that we need to access, in order to _save the world,_ I am taking credit for your transformation magic because I can't cast anything myself?" he said, pinching his nose.

"Yes! It's _my _spell, developed by _my_ people, and impossible for you silly little mortals to even cast! You don't even _have _an astral form!"

Einar groaned.

"And _I'm _the prodigy."

"Yes, and I know that – what does it matter if Faralda thinks otherwise? Isn't she just a 'silly little mortal?'"

"She certainly is," sniffed Caprifexia. "_Fine – _so long as _we're_ clear that I'm the prodigy, and you're the magic-less meat-shield_."_

"You know, I don't know why I ever thought you weren't humble."

"I don't know why either, I am a dragon, and therefore better at everything – humility included."

They followed the arrogant little mortal wizard into the 'Hall of Elements,' which was a large circular room with a font of mana in the centre of the room that seemed to be mainly there to provide light. There was a small group of various mortals already there, and Faralda was talking in excited, hushed tones to the oldest looking of them, who's eyes lit up when he saw Einar.

"Welcome, welcome!" said the man as the pair drew closer. "I am Tolfdir, Master Wizard and one of the instructors here at the College – Faralda tells me you already know some fascinating Alteration magic Mr. Einar?"

"Oh… um, yes," said Einar, rubbing his hands together nervously. "My, uh, 'Lizardify' spell I call it."

"Well today's lesson might be too simple for you then," said Tolfdir. "Though you're welcome to participate if you want."

"Oh no, I might just… sit over here," said Einar in a relieved voice, moving off to one of the benches. "Long journey, and all that."

"Well all right then," said Tolfdir in a slightly disappointed voice, before turning to Caprifexia. "And you're Mr. Einar's friend? What's your name? Faralda didn't say."

"Caprifexia," she said, huffing in irritation. It wasn't fair, Einar being treated as being good at something. _She _was the dragon.

"Well this is Brelya, Onmund, and J'zargo," said Tolfdir, indicating to the other mortals, one of which seemed to be an upright Cat who sniffed suspiciously at her. Caprifexia ignored them, since they clearly weren't important. "And today we are going to be focusing on warding magics, specifically conjuring a shield to repel hostile magic. Are you familiar with this type of magic Caprifexia? Remember, there is no shame in admitting yourself unfamiliar with a concept, you are a new student after all."

"Of course I can create shields," said Caprifexia in an offended voice, flicking fingers. "_Barricadus_."

A shimmering field of blue energy jumped into existence before her, and Tolfdir eyed it critically.

"Not a bad first attempt, but you'd do well to incorporate a regenerative component – otherwise you'll have to manually repair any damage to it, and you might not have the necessary attention to spare in the middle of combat."

"A regenerative component?" she scoffed. "That's impossible."

"It isn't, observe," said Tolfdir_,_ waving his hand and forgoing an incantation entirely – the show off.

The energy in the room shifted, and a moment later a white and yellow disc appeared before him. Unlike Caprifexia's shield, which was more or less a solid skein of uniform energy, Tolfdir's barrier surged and twisted, energy washing back and forth across it in a sort of circular motion, ready to reinforce any part of it at any time if it was damaged – just like he had claimed.

Caprifexia blinked several times, a wave of vertigo crashing over her as she tried to reconcile the fact that this mortal appeared to be able to do something with magic that her flight had never developed with the objective, transcendental, and multiversal fact that dragons were better at everything than mortals.

While she could accept – on extreme sufferance – that maybe some of them might _temporarily _have more experience than _her_ with magic, the fact that they had come up with a way of shielding that generations of genius dragons had never developed was… perverse.

_Unnatural_.

"H-how?" she stammered, her mind still lurching about as it tried and failed to come up with an explanation for what was happening to her.

Was she dreaming? Was she drunk? Had she gone insane? A curse perhaps?

"Rather than simply conjuring a skein of energy, as you have done, you have to work a more complex spell matrix that can take in energy and redistribute it. It takes a bit of getting used to, but with practice I'm sure you'll have a good grasp of it in no time," he explained, taking a book out of his satchel and handing it to her. "Have a read of the first chapter of this, and if you're quick, you might be able to get a few attempts in by the end of the class."

Caprifexia hesitated, before stroppily accepting the book and stomping over to where Einar was sitting as the other students – _the_ _other students!_ – conjured shields like the one Tolfdir had created.

"Capri, you OK?" said Einar.

"This… this is _obscene._"

"What is?"

"How did they develop these shields?" she said in a horrified voice. _"How do they have better magic than my Flight!? _Well, in this single, microscopically small facet of the art – but _still_. It's _horrific. _They must have cheated somehow. Yes, that's what is happening – dirty cheating little mortals… you lot _disgust _me; you should be ashamed!"

"Maybe us mortals aren't as limited as you seem to think."

"_But we're dragons," _she said. "They are – _you_ _are_ – you're all just squishy little mayflies! This is _unacceptable,_ mortals shouldn't be- _can't be_ better than us at anything!"

"Well then I guess you should be reading the book," snickered Einar.

Caprifexia glared at him for a moment as she wrenched open the tome and began to angrily devour the text.

It approached shield theory from a rather strange aspect, and the writer was far less precise than a draconic author would have been, which was to be expected, but Caprifexia did have to admit that it was a rather fascinating way to approach the idea of shields, treating the actual barrier as a secondary cause of the first spell, rather than directly creating it to begin with.

Her first thought was that it would mean that the barrier formed too slowly to be useful, but there was some tricky mathematics at the back of the chapter that dealt with that in a way that was almost elegant – for a mortal at least – and when she snapped the book shut ten minutes later she was still a bit angry, but more interested to try out the new spell.

She considered the incantation for a few moments, reflecting on her feelings and something vaguely Draconic before threading the energy from around her carefully into the proper matrix and linking it within her mind with the new incantation.

"_Obstantus_," she said firmly, taking her time to make sure everything was flowing properly as the white and gold barrier slowly came into being before her, the energy of the primary spell swirling across and creating the barrier as a byproduct.

"Oh very good, very good!" said Tolfdir, wandering over unwelcomly. "I seems you've got the same flare for magic as your friend. It is so good to see the younger generations taking such a keen interest in study. An excellent first attempt."

"Of course," said Caprifexia, preening.

"Make sure to keep the secondary flux under control though, otherwise you're wasting mana unnecessarily."

Caprifexia was about to snap something back and tell him to mind his own business, when she saw that he was actually right and made the adjustment, reducing the golden sheen of the shield and making it more transparent.

"Good, good – keep practising and I'm sure you'll master it in no time," said Tolfdir, bumbling off again and talking to the upright house pet.

Maybe, thought Caprifexia begrudgingly as she dismissed the spell and tried again, _maybe _these mortals might have a little to teach her after all.

Capri grew more confident with the spell as the class progressed, and by the time it ended Caprifexia could cast the spell after only a few seconds of concentration. Not as good as her normal shield, but she'd practised with that for far longer.

"Excellent, excellent," said Tolfdir as the lesson grew to a close. "I'm glad that everyone has such a solid foundation in the defensive aspects of Alteration magic. Safety, after all, is the most important thing to remember when studying magic. Now, I'm excited to tell you that rather than the usual lecture and practical with Master Wizard Colette Marence tomorrow, the Arch-mage has approved a field trip to the archaeological dig at Saarthal – the ancient capital of Skyrim.

"Although not mandatory, a firm grasp of history is necessary to pass the theoretical portion of the Trials – although it will likely be several years before any of you attempt those; except perhaps Einar over there, if Faralda is to be believed."

Einar laughed weakly and tugged at his collar.

"There is also always the possibility that we may discover artefacts or spells from that era," continued Tolfdir. "Several surviving works from the age describe the conflict that eventually destroyed the city as being fought over some kind of immensely powerful object."

Caprifexia's ears perked up at that.

She might be a hero now, but she was still a dragon. She didn't care about money or jewels or in-sor-ance or other mortal nonsense. But powerful magical artefacts? _They_ were worth something.

* * *

"Capri, found anything?" asked Einar as they sat around a table in the library piled high with tomes later that evening.

Outside the sun was setting, and a few tell-tale wisps of smoke wafted up past the large circular window that looked out from the Arcanium – or 'library' for people who weren't mortals with over-inflated egos. Somehow, inexplicably, the tree – and the accursed bugs festering within it – had spontaneously caught fire shortly after Tolfdir's lecture on shielding.

Caprifexia certainly hadn't had anything to do with it. A true mystery.

"Hmm?" said Caprifexia, looking up from her book of astrapmancy.

"I asked, have you found- hey, that's not a book on Dragons."

"No, it's on lightning magic. It turns out your world isn't entirely useless after all, some of the authors are decent. Not as good as a dragon, but still, remarkable for creatures with such limited minds and lifespans. I'll admit, it really is impressive the way your kind try and claw your way out of the mud even though you're just inevitably going to die after a few short decades."

"Capri, we came here to study a way to defeat the dragons."

"And lightning can't do that?"

"Since they _reincarnate _unless killed by a Dovahkiin, who you threw into the Void, no, it can't."

"That's absurd, they're not demons – I would have sensed the Fel on them if they were."

"What's the Fel?"

"This – _Pesadillus_," said Caprifexia, extending a hand and summoning a small spark of arcane power. The azure spark danced for a moment, before Caprifexia viciously twisted the energy in on itself, turning the blue energy into a sickly green.

Immediately her teeth began to ache as the magic surged against her control and the back of her mind began to itch. There was a reason that she didn't use Fel magic often: even as a creature who had grown up bathing in the power of the Void, Fel magic was simply _unpleasant_.

It might be powerfully destructive, but it was also insane for any but the most experienced dragons to try to use in a combat situation. And even they had to be careful, lest it corrupt them and begin to transform them into a demon.

As for the mortals who used it… well, the poor things had never been blessed with abundant supply of wisdom, and usually blew themselves up. A self-solving problem for the most part.

Einar drew back in disgust from the green fire. Even as a limited mortal with no real magical ability to speak of he still had an instinctual revulsion of the twisted and chaotic magic.

"That's _horrid_," he hissed as she extinguished it. "But what's it got to do with reincarnation?"

"Only beings of the Fel are capable of reconstituting themselves in a realm known as the Twisting Nether after they are killed. It is because of the nature of Fel energy itself, which comes to infest their souls. Other beings need some kind of anchor, phylactery, or external artefact. Well, anything not on the level of a Titan."

"Maybe the dragon's, or ‘proto-drakes’ as you call them, are like these Titans-"

Caprifexia burst into laughter, earning a series of increasingly angry 'shushes' from the grumpy orc librarian.

"What's so funny?" said Einar as Caprifexia's mirth slowly faded and she wiped her eyes.

"Titans are capable of reordering the cosmos, of creating life from nothing, of feats of magic even _dragons _can't fully comprehend. These overgrown lizards are no where _near _the power of a Titan."

"How can you be sure?"

"The being that assaulted you in the Void? When I had to burn out a bit of your brain? That was an Old God – a being so incomprehensibly vast and terrible that it made you mad just by looking at it. Titans are far, _far _beyond even them."

"Huh. OK. Then I guess this 'Fel' thing is just another difference between our worlds-"

"No, it is a _Law of Magic,” __insisted Caprifexia._

"Well I'm telling you dragon reincarnation is real. Real, and extensively documented. Maybe your 'law' is wrong."

"It isn't. If you were an actual wizard, and not a just credit-stealing-faker, you would know this."

Einar rubbed his eyes before taking a deep breath and apparently deciding to try to be more reasonable.

"OK, assuming that you're correct with this 'Law' of yours, if the Dragons could indeed come back to life – how could they do it?" asked Einar.

"They could have phylacteries-"

"Which are?"

"Objects that very foolish wizards – mortals, obviously – put bits of their mangled, dismembered souls into as part of becoming 'Liches.'"

"And this lets them return to life?"

"Sort of, although it is more that they gain control of an undead puppet that they foolishly think of as 'themselves,' which can be destroyed without what's left of their soul disintegrating. Although this arrangement isn't true immortality – like what I have – and typically the Phylactery decays over a few centuries and they go slowly mad and then die. We had a bound one at Blackrock spire, we got to tormen- err, 'interact' with it in Necromancy class."

"OK, dragons have been around a lot longer than that. What else could explain their documented ability to come back from death?"

Caprifexia tapped her lip. "Another being could scoop up the souls of creatures at the point of death and store them in some kind of medium and then, assuming they were powerful enough, perfectly recreate the bodies and put the soul back in. If they were good enough there wouldn't necessarily be any appreciable damage to the soul."

"Akatosh probably does that then, they're supposed to be his children."

"What is an 'Akatosh?'"

"You really don't pay any attention, do you?" said Einar. "Akatosh is the Dragon God of Time, Chief of the Nine Divines-"

Capri-snorted and rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Gods don't exist – even ones that are dragons," said Caprifexia. "That's just mortal delusion; the universe and the multiverse follow concrete laws that with enough knowledge and skill can be manipulated by sentient beings, even limited mortals, like you, either physically or magically."

"Err, no, the Gods do exist, there are countless instances of them intervening directly in Nirn, and Restoration magic draws _directly _on the strength of Mara."

"_Pfft."_

"There are also artefacts that confirm their existence – the Elder Scrolls for one."

"Every religion has 'holy books,'" chortled Caprifexia. "My people have watched religions rise and fall across ages beyond your mortal comprehension, and documented them extensively. We even created a few as a means to control you silly little gullible mortals."

"The Elder Scrolls aren't 'holy books' – they don't contain passages and scripts – they're fragments of distilled reality; objects outside of time."

"That doesn't make any sense – objects do not exist 'outside of time.' Time travel, while possible, is incredibly difficult, almost always imprecise, and usually cause paradoxes that end up unmaking themselves and reverting the time-line to its previous form. Even the Bronze Dragonflight were pretty limited in what they could actually do – and they were _dragons_."

"Well it's _true_," said Einar. "Assuming your right about your home, about Azeroth, and there aren't Gods there, why do you think it is the same here? Mundus, Oblivion, and Aetherias might well be different."

"That's not possible…" said Caprifexia, sniffing primly before shrugging. "But very well, I'll indulge your mortal nonsense a bit more."

That's what a hero would do after all; pat the silly mortals on the head and tell them that they were very clever. It wasn't really their fault, after all, they hadn't chosen to be born such limited, inferior creatures.

She really had come a long way with this hero business. She should ask Einar if they gave out awards for heroism…

"How _magnanimous_ of you," said Einar, agreeing with her conclusion.

"What's this 'Mundus, Oblivion, and Aetherias' then?" she asked.

"Mundus is this world, while Aetherias are the various celestial bodies that orbit it-"

"Rubbish, stars don't orbit planets."

"Err – yes they do, they orbit Nirn."

"No, they don't."

"How do you know? You're a baby."

"I am a dragon."

"That _isn't _a justification."

"It is."

"No it _isn't_," huffed Einar. "Being a snarky winged lizard with supernatural powers doesn't _automatically _make you right."

"I am a dragon," she said slowly, as if explaining to a hatchling. Although even hatchlings weren't so obstinate. "_Therefore,_ I have ancestral memories of the laws of physics. QED."

"'QED?' What's that?"

"_Quod erat Draconium. _It's a Draconic expression. It means, literally, 'what the dragon said.'"

"That is one of the silliest things I have ever heard. Fine, _prove_ it."

Caprifexia considered just ignoring him and going back to her book. But then Einar would probably keep on thinking he was right and she was wrong, and she couldn't allow that. So Caprifexia huffed and pulled a sheaf of paper towards her and wrote 'Basic Astrophysics for Irritating Mortals' across the top of the page in Einar's ugly looking language.

"The simplest proof that hopefully even you will be able to understand is that rather than circular or eliptical orbits, if you place a planet at the centre of stellar systems you have to plot ludicrous epicycles to make the model have any ordering at all, and can't use it to predict anything," she said, drawing a circle to represent Nirn, another for a sun, and then a squiggly swirling line for another body. "Like this, see?"

"No, that's wrong," said Einar, grabbing her pen and making some rough drawings on the other side of the page. "The orbits of Akatosh and Julianos and everything else are circular around Nirn, like this. I'm sure there are dozens of books, and probably an Orrery or two, that will have the same diagram in this library if you don't believe me."

Caprifexia looked down at Einar's rather poor penmanship, frowning as she tried to wrap her mind around how the insanity that Einar was spouting would actually function.

"But that's- that's… absurd. Stars are several orders of magnitude heavier and denser than planets."

"So?" said Einar dimly.

"So _gravity, _you ridiculous mortal!" said Caprifexia.

"Well maybe the Eye of Akatosh isn't larger than Nirn-"

"That's _madness, _then there wouldn't be enough gravimetric pressure for solar fusion to occur."

"I don't know what that means."

"So you don't even know something that basic, but you feel qualified to argue with me? The arrogance of you mortals is _astonishing._"

"As I was saying," he said, ploughing onward in the face of her overwhelming logic. "Beyond Aetherias is Oblivion, the realm of the Daedra-"

"You mean the Void; I've explained this."

"No, I don't – the 'Void' is something else entirely, since we don't get attacked by Daedra whenever we go there. I guess that's beyond Oblivion?" said Einar speculatively, before shaking his head. "If it helps an analogy that is often used is to think of Nirn as like the yolk in an egg, Aetherias as the white, and Oblivion as the shell."

"That's ridiculous."

"That reality," said Einar. "Lots of people a lot more clever than me have proven all this – there are books here with experiments you can do yourself which might convince even stubborn little lizards."

"But… _why_?" said Caprifexia, pulling at her horns. _"Why!?"_

"Why what?"

"Why would anything _create_ something like that – it's insane: a fake-sun that doesn't run on fusion, an actually geocentric system… it's- it's _insanity_! In order for this universe not topple over itself it would need to be actively held in place with magic – a _ridiculous_ amount of magic."

"I don't follow. Why? What's so different about Azeroth?"

"Azeroth is just one planet in a solar system that orbits a sun, and that sun is just one star in a galaxy of roughly one hundred billion stars, each with their own systems of stellar objects and planets – some of which support life, some of which don't. And that galaxy is just one of billions and billions and billions of galaxies – even my people don't know the exact number."

Einar blinked a few times, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to wrap his small brain around the scale involved.

"But that's…. that's _crazy_."

"No, that's _normal_; your universe is the one that is completely mad."

"So there is just… all this empty space?"

"It is called the Twisting Nether – a chaotic maelstrom of Fel and Arcane energy, the lifeblood of reality."

"So who made your universe?"

"No one. It emerged from the Void without direction. _Naturally. _Assuming for a moment, and bear with me on this, that you're actually _right_ about this world, then this universe could only have been made on purpose. Perhaps the beings you foolishly call Gods did it. Although why they would do anything so _ridiculous_ is beyond me."

"So now you concede that the Gods made Nirn?" he said after a few moments of thinking through what she'd just said.

"They're not Gods; Gods don't exist."

"But you just said-"

"They're obviously just a case of the 'Law of SABIGISMF.'"

"Sabig- _what_?"

"'_Sufficiently Advanced Beings are Indistinguishable from Gods to Idiotic and Superstitious Mortal Fools.'"_

"And you say _I'm _the one that talks nonsense?"

"It's a Draconic term, I'm not surprised you don't understand it. Anyway, this SABIGISMF or SABIGISMFs are clearly incredibly powerful, although they were clearly either drunk or bored when they made this place – maybe both," said Capri. "Perhaps… I don't know- perhaps a Titan who had my ability to walk through the Void might be able to make something like this. Although the question as to _why _still stands."

"So _now _do you believe me then that Alduin, a dragon and child of Akatosh, and who is said to have the power to consume the world, is a real threat?"

"I suppose on an artificial Plane, under the control of these presumably alcoholic and deranged SABIGISMF, then I guess that even a proto-drake could be hypothetically dangerous to even a mighty dragon such as myself," conceded Caprifexia slowly. "And so if there is some kind of being, or maybe even beings, directing this- this… _nonsense_, then maybe without the 'Dovahkiin' the proto-drakes can't be killed, but…"

_"'_ _But?'"_

"But outside of this reality, outside the power of the SABIGISMF, those silly rules wouldn't apply – a proto-drake thrown into the Void or sent to a different world couldn't be reincarnated."

"Your portals are too small to fit a dragon as big as Alduin is supposed to be through. We've discussed this idea before. We need a way to defeat Alduin within the 'rules of this world' – or at the very least, delay him destroying the world like was apparently done in the past."

"Delay? What do you mean?"

"Apparently ancient heroes somehow defeated Alduin thousands of years ago and stopped him returning until now," said Einar, grabbing one of the stack of books on the table and flipping it until he found the page he was looking for. "'_ … and thus, Kyne, feeling sorrow for her children, begged Paarthurnax, brother of Alduin, to aid the mortals. Moved by the Goddess of the Storm's pleas, the mighty Dovah taught the Tongue to Men, giving them the key that they would eventually use to end the great Dragon War and strike down Alduin.'"_

"What's this 'Tongue?'"

"Dragonspeech – _you _speak it, I've heard you."

"The Proto-drake language? There is nothing particularly special about it – and it's certainly not as elegant as true Draconic."

"It's the _language of the Gods_. With enough understanding and practice it can be used to cast spells by ordering the world to change."

"That isn't how magic works."

"You use incantations – sometimes at least."

"They make casting spells easier – but they are entirely personal mnemonics. Words don't have any magic, it's _always _the Wizard."

"What have we just learnt about making assumptions?" he said petulantly.

"Ugh – I suppose if whoever made this universe was completely mad…" she said, glaring at the tome on lightning magic she apparently wasn't allowed to read anymore. "So what, I just say **'Explode Book?'**"

Nothing happened.

"What did you say?"

"I told the book to explode," she huffed. "But nothing happened – your Plane's special magic is rubbish. Your so-called-Gods are rubbish. Your 'dragons,' who aren't even proper dragons, are rubbish. You're rubbish-"

"It definitely _does _work – that dragon that attacked us used a Dragon Shout. And there are people who can use it too: the Greybeards, and Ulfric Stormcloak – he used it to kill the High King, before the Civil War."

"And it can hurt the proto-drakes? Stop them reincarnating?"

"I don't know, the book doesn't say why it let the mortals defeat the dragons, or what they did to Alduin to render him powerless for all this time. But it seems a good place to start. We should head to the Greybeards, they might know more about this – they are the experts on the Tongue."

"I think we should go to Saarthal with the group tomorrow."

"What? Why?"

"Because there is apparently a powerful magical artefact there."

"… and?"

"And that's more interesting than this 'Tongue' nonsense."

"Capri, we should be focused on saving Nirn, not running off after shiny objects."

"But Saarthal was inhabited by mortals when the proto-drakes ruled over Skyrim, it might have hints as to their nature, as well as – purely incidentally of course – powerful magical artefacts that are far more interesting."

"How do you know that?"

"I read it in a book," she said, shifting the stack and holding up a history tome.

"Oh, so you _can _do research, but only when it interests you?" he groaned.

"That's right."

"Ugh," said Einar, massaging his temples. "_Fine_, we can go on the expedition – as long as it is only a few days – on the off chance you're right. But then it's straight to High Hrothgar, OK?"


	8. An Unforeseeable Reversal of Character

“… and that is why high elves, we altmer, must lead Tamriel. Only we can provide the _vision _that the world truly needs – don’t you think?” said Arakno, a very annoying mortal who wouldn’t leave Caprifexia alone. He wasn’t a student, and seemed to represent, and never shut up, about something called the ‘Thalmor,’ which Caprifexia was pretty sure was some kind of theology book club at the college. Maybe. Nirn’s SABIGISMFs had definitely been mentioned at some point. At least, she thought so…

It probably wasn’t particularly important.

Arakno also seemed to be labouring under the totally bizarre delusion that _elves, _of all things, were superior forms of life. And while it was true that they had slightly less of a propensity for dying than humans, they were still, barring draconic intervention, mortals. The idea that it was a good idea for them to be in charge of _anything_ was ludicrous, after all, it wasn’t like they were dragons.

The expedition consisted Caprifexia, Einar, the students she had met the day beforehand, the alteration instructor Tolfdir, and Arakno, who had announced at the last minute he was coming. They were presently on their way up a completely snowed over switchback path that climbed towards a saddle that apparently led into the valley that contained the ruins of Sarthaal where supposedly there were fantastically powerful magical objects, as well as maybe some boring information on the proto-drakes that Einar considered such a big threat.

Far below them lay the still northern ocean, glinting in the sunlight of a still, bluebird day. They had left the college at a completely unreasonable hour, when the sun had barely begun to peek over the eastern horizon, and that alone had put Caprifexia in a bad mood. What was worse, she had to _walk _all the way up the mountain on her still twinging leg from where the foolish Einar had slashed her, since her ex-minion and supposed ‘friend’ was taking credit for her true form to pass as a wizard. He’d even had the nerve to refuse to carry her on his back. The _nerve!_

Arakno had been twittering on for almost an hour, and Caprifexia was barely listening to the fool, instead focusing further up the line to where Tolfdir was fawning over Einar: offering him advanced one to one tutoring, singing his praises, and somehow not seeing that unlike everyone else present on the expedition, who knew the basic cantrip to walk atop the snow, the supposed ‘prodigal wizard’ was sinking into the fluffy white crystals up to his knees with every step.

Mortals, she thought, they couldn’t even see through the most basic deception and manipulation, the ridiculously gullible, naive things.

“It’s unfair that they give him so much attention, isn’t it?” said Arakno, following her gaze and speaking sense for the first time in nearly an hour.

“It is!” she agreed, glad there was at least one other sane person at this college who could recognise her greatness. “He’s just a silly little mortal!”

“He _is, _isn’t he,” agreed Arakno, nodding along with her keen insight. “Why it’s _you _who should be getting their attention, since, naturally as an altmer, you’re a far more gifted student than that filthy nord.”

“Exactly!” she said, ignoring his deluded notion that snootier-than-usual-elves were somehow above any other mortal, and instead focusing on the other more rational parts of his statement. “But it’s ‘do you want some private tutoring Einar’ this, and ‘oh you’re such a prodigy Einar’ that. _I’m _the prodigy!”

“You’d do well back home, you know, on the Summerset Isle. You wouldn’t have to put up with these bigots, the tutors there would appreciate your brilliance.”

Caprifexia had no idea where the ‘Summerset Isle’ was, but she did like the sound of somewhere her magnificence would_ finally _be appreciated. Back home her people might have been reviled for their corruption, but no one doubted their power and majesty.

“In the meantime, however, I would be happy to provide you with any extra-lessons denied to you on the basis of race,” he said. “I am a skilled mage myself, and taught at the Summerset Academy for several years.”

Caprifexia was about to snort in amusement, before remembering that, strange and unnatural as it <strike>might seem</strike> _objectively was,_ sometimes mortals knew spells that even her people hadn’t. In small, esoteric and probably useless fields, <strike>perhaps</strike> _obviously,_ but knowledge was power, literally in magic, and she could at least entertain their notions of expertise until she had drained them of their parlour tricks. Which she could then perfect with her draconic brilliance, of course.

“I shall let you know if I require your ‘assistance.’”

“I look forward to it. Now, I’m afraid I must discuss a few things with that fool Tolfdir about the excavation before we arrive. A pleasure talking with you Miss Caprifexia. And please, think more on what I have said about the pressing need for mer leadership – a young woman with your perspective would go far in the Thalmor,” he said, inclining his head respectfully and offering her one last smile before lengthening his stride and moving up the line.

Caprifexia watched him go, reflecting that he really wasn’t too bad for a mortal. Sure, he was a bit annoying, but mortals couldn’t help that, and heroes had to tolerate irritating people and not set them on fire – _she’d checked_. His notions of elven-superiority were clearly absurd, but he actually showed her the respect she was due, which was a nice change from the insolence and sometimes outright mockery of Einar. Yes, her friend could learn a lot from the nice elf, she thought, as she continued up the mountain pass.

“Are you sure you won’t cast a snow-walking charm brother?” said the other ‘nord’ man on the trip, whose name might have been something like On-mud, to Einar from further up the line. Caprifexia thought it would have been more appropriate to describe a mortal as ‘In-mud,’ but unfortunately for Nirn, no one had consulted her about the local mortal naming conventions. “You look rather tired.”

“Ah, no – good cardio,” said Einar, the chatter of his teeth audible from all the way back where Caprifexia was as he struggled back onto the more firmly packed snow, stopping and letting the others past and waiting for her to catch up.

“_Finally_,_” he gasped. “_I thought that Thalmor prick would never leave you alone-”

“You shouldn’t speak about him like that. Arakno_, _unlike you and the rest of these foolish mortals, actually can see my greatness. Your lack of tolerance for those different to you is a very ugly flaw, you should work on that.”

“His name is ‘Arcano’ – not ‘_Arakno_.’”

“I think you’ll find it isn’t.”

“Oh for Akatosh’s sake!” he said, pressing his head against his temples and taking a deep breath of cold mountain air as he chastisted himself for getting the nice elf’s name wrong. “OK, fine, whatever, ‘Arakno’ it is – listen Capri, he’s being nice to you because he thinks you’re a high elf, and he’s a rabid, frothing at the mouth altmer-supremacist maniac. He’s trying to manipulate you – and is apparently succeeding.”

“Manipulate me?” she scoffed. “I’m a dragon. We don’t get manipulated, we do the manipulating.”

Einar scrunched up his eyes and took a deep breath. “Just cast the snow-walking charm on me, please?” he said, shivering. “And also whatever heating spell the rest of these buggers are using to stop freezing – I can’t feel my toes!”

“I wouldn’t want to deny you the chance to show off your amazing magical prowess,” she said sarcastically. “After all, they’re simple spells – even the cat can do them, apparently.”

“Oh for- are you_ still_ hung up on this? You _know _I can’t cast magic; you_ know_ why I needed to pretend to be able to polymorph you; you _know _that I think you’re a brilliant wizard. What more do you want?” he said. “And J’zargo is a khajiite, not a cat – that’s super racist.”

“So you can discriminate against dragons, say we need to be held to unreasonably high standards, but I can’t call a cat a cat? How is that fair?”

“You are, by your own terms, the only dragon in this world. You’re not from an oppressed group who are profiled as thieves as a matter of course. And I’m not discriminating against you. No one is discriminating against you. Oblivion, if what half you’ve said is true your people, your people were doing most of the oppressing back on your homeworld.”

“Dragonist,” she sniffed, ignoring his confusing and probably fallacious argument. “I don’t know why I put up with your bigotry.”

“Just cast the damn spells,” he said, shivering. “I didn’t even want to come here!”

Caprifexia rolled her eyes, flicking her hands – which were infinitely inferior to her talons – towards him and muttering under her breath. “_Nievelevantus. Comodus.”_

Einar sighed with relief as the warming charm washed over him, and he grinned as boots barely even made a dent in the white powder snow when he took an experimental step.

“Why haven’t you cast this on me before?” he said as they set off again. “The warming charm I mean. It would have made the last few months a lot more comfortable.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Divines sake Capri – I have _no idea _what you, or any other wizard, is actually capable of. Beyond setting things on fire I mean, that seems to be about ninety nine percent of what you do.”

“I cannot held responsible for the ignorance of mortals!” she said, outraged. “Imagine! I would be the most guilty being in the multiverse!”

“_Imagine that_,” he agreed in an oddly flat voice.

* * *

“J’zargo is wondering. He knows that you are a master of alteration, but are you also an expert with the destruction magics?” asked the cat, addressing Einar as they reached a rusty metal door.

“Err,” said her ex-minion, giving the metal an experimental push. “Um, no, not an expert.”

“A shame,” said the cat. “J’zargo was hoping that there would be some real competition.”

Caprifexia scowled. _She _was an expert at destroying things. But did that cat ask her? No – it asked Einar. She was getting sick of this ridiculous pretence that Einar was actually good at something other than being insolent.

They’d arrived at Saarthal in the mid-afternoon, and had been broken up into groups to investigate the ruins and report back anything interesting they found. Thus far, however, Caprifexia was unimpressed. Far from the trove of magical artefacts she’d been expecting, there was nothing but the bones of long dead mortals, dust, and _cobwebs. _And where there were cobwebs, there was fire; at least, when Caprifexia was around. She didn’t know why she had let Einar talk her into coming on this ridiculous expedition.

“Hey, watch it!” said Einar as she blasted a suspicious looking patch of silk. “Instead of setting _potential _spiders on fire, why don’t you open this jammed door?”

“Why don’t _you _do it?” she grumbled. “You’re the ‘prodigy.’”

“Capri, don’t be difficult,” he hissed, flicking his eyes to the cat, who was investigating some kind of terrible mortal carving on the wall.

“Fine,” she said, thrusting her palm – which was infinitely inferior to her talons – forward. _“Fuerza.”_

A jet of force erupted from her hand and blasted into the metal. The ancient hinges, which were probably more rust than anything else, exploded and a torrent of dust fell from the ceiling as the doors crashed to the ground, echoing throughout the ruins. Both she and the cat hastily conjured shields over their heads, funnelling the dust away from them, and in large part into the hair of a cursing Einar.

“Did you really have to make so much noise?” said Einar, shaking his head and trying futility to get all the greyish dust out of his hair. “You know there might be undead here, right?”

“You think that a dra- a very powerful, totally mortal and normal elf wizard, who is definitely not a dragon, would be scared of a few shambling corpses?” she laughed, remembering at the last moment that the upright feline with them was not actually a house-pet, but, allegedly, a wizard. “And if you’re making me do the magic, you don’t get to criticise, ‘_prodigy_.’”

“It’s, ah, good practice for you,” said Einar, clearing his throat as the cat moved into the corridor, increasing the illumination of his warelight with a wiggle of his claws. “And stop that,” he added in a whisper. “You want him to realise I can’t cast magic?”

“Relax – mortals are fools,” she said.

“_I’m_ a mortal.”

“QED.”

“Ugh. Stop using those, what did you call them, ‘dragonyms?’ They don’t even make sense.”

“To a mortal, perhaps.”

Einar huffed and moved after the cat into the tunnel – without his own warelight of course, because he was, in fact,_ not_ a prodigal wizard – and Caprifexia took a few moments to check that there weren’t any cobwebs or_ spiders_ hanging down ahead before following them.

She had barely taken two steps when there was a clunk behind her. Frowning, Caprifexia turned, directing her warelight back behind her towards the sound.

The large rubble covered room lit up with the light of her spell, and long shadows danced on the far wall as she moved the small ball of light back and forth. Seeing nothing, she was just about to turn back to follow the others when she sensed a whisper of frigid, stale magic waft past her. It wasn’t a type of magic she had felt for some time, but even months and months after the fall of Blackrock Spire she knew necromantic energy when she felt it.

Then what she had assumed was a rock jumped towards her, and she caught a glimpse of pale flesh before the creature barrelled into her and knocked her from her feet, extinguishing her warelight and plunging the room into darkness, save for the two baleful points of blue light in the creatures eyes, and the angry orange glow cast by her own irises. She fell with a shriek and landed hard, yelping as the indragonly fast undead creature raised a hand-axe and brought it whistling down towards her face.

Sparks flew as the axe struck stone and her form shifted, and with an outraged roar she flapped out from underneath the ghoul and bathed it in flame. The undead creature groaned as her dragon-fire ripped through it’s body, still reaching out towards her even as it’s desiccated flesh sloughed away and the energy binding it collapsed.

The orange flames gradually dimmed, and as the glare faded and the room fell back into darkness shuffling and clunking sounds came from beyond the dying firelight, bringing with them dozens and dozens and dozens of sets of glowing blue eyes.

Caprifexia <strike>squeaked in fear</strike> calmly _assessed her options_, and was just about to <strike>give into fear</strike> _make a reasonable withdrawal_ and open a portal to the Void when she remembered that Einar wasn’t with her, and without warning would be overrun by the ghouls. He was only a mortal after all, a magic-less mortal with a slightly more magical house-pet – a fragile creature in need of her protection.

Cursing her new heroic obligations she flapped off the ground and accelerated down the corridor Einar and the cat had taken, doing her best to ignore the cobwebs, and possible spiders, that clung to her scales as she streaked though the gloom. Einar turned to her as she rounded a corner and the rays of her newly conjured warelight reached him, a frown playing across his features.

“What the-” said the cat, a feline eyebrow rising as she flapped to a stop before them, clearly overcome by the majesty of her true form.

“Undead!” she shouted as behind her the sound of dozens of footfalls entered the hallway behind them. “Run you silly little mortals!”

Einar hesitated for a moment, before grabbing the cat by the shoulders and pushing him onward as Caprifexia turned her head back towards the ghouls.

They rushed towards her, moving incredibly quickly. With her wings she could easily outpace them, of course, but her bipedal charges were, in addition to their other shortcomings, far slower, and after a few quick mental calculations she realised that the ghouls would reach them in a matter of seconds.

She spread her talons, visualising a line of fire running across the tunnel and pouring her power into her spell.

“_Augis!”_ she shouted as the creatures closed on her, and a pleasant heat rolled over her as a blistering wall of fire burst from the floor in front of her, reaching to the ceiling and spilling outward.

“Hah!” she said. “Try and get past that you disgusting-”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence when disintergrating body toppled through the fire, taking a large part of the power she had invested in it as it’s necromantic energy disrupted her spell, twitching for a few moments before growing still.

A moment later another of the ghouls hurled themselves through her the wall of fire, and Caprifexia said several words that a young dragon shouldn’t have known as she realised she had only delayed, not stopped the ghouls. She turned and soared off after her companions, feeling her spell gradually weaken behind her as more and more of the reanimated corpses rushed headlong into the flames.

“Run faster!” she said as she caught up to the others. “Move those limbs you ridiculous looking bipeds!”

“J’zargo is wondering how you polymorphed yourself,” wheezed the cat as he stumbled onward, clearly unused to intense physical activity. “And how you can speak and cast spells in that form.”

“More running, less pointless questions!” said Caprifexia as they reached the end of the hallway.

There was another door, but the cat blasted it open before they reached it, and they piled through it into a large, roughly circular room, at the centre of which floated a glowing ball of twisting metal roughly six feet in circumference that shone from within with azure light. It positively _oozed _magic, and Caprifexia forgot for a moment that they were being chased by a horde of undead as she flapped over towards it.

She couldn’t really tell what it was doing beyond that it was affecting space around it, but whatever it was, it involved a tremendous amount of mana.

What was odd, however, was that it wasn’t pulling magic from the world around it, from leylines, or anything she could sense. Normally enchanted objects drew on the energy around them and then transformed it into some effect, and to the mystically sensitive this throughput was usually easily identified.

It was possible to make an item that drew on energy and then stored it for later use, or gradually consumed some kind of magical fuel, but unless the object had detected them approaching and started emitting energy only then, she knew of no fuel that could have kept whatever the orb was doing going for the thousands of years since the city of Sarthal had been inhabited. Even Titan relics didn’t have those sorts of internal reserves, and needed to draw on the power of the Twisting Nether.

“Capri!” yelled Einar, shaking her from her reverie. “Stop gawking and help J’zargo!”

Caprifexia wasn’t really sure what a J’zargo was, but she flapped over to Einar and the cat regardless, where the latter was busy reinforcing the door with some kind of ward. She lent some of her power to the matrix, and after a few moments the spell took hold and a barrier of blue-white light rolled over the door.

“There,” wheezed the cat, lowering his claws and doing some approximation of a smile. “If any of them try to break down the door, J’zargo’s spell will stop them-”

He was interrupted as a glowing blue axe head cut through the door, and the ward, with a shower of sparks.

“Or,” said the cat speculatively, stroking his furry chin. “If they were to have enchanted weapons, maybe not.”

“There must be another way out,” said Einar, looking frantically around the room, which apart from the entrance they had come through seemed to be nothing but smooth circular walls, before looking at Capri meaningfully. “Capri? Can you, ahem, _‘do anything?’”_

Capri looked between him and the glowing magic ball a few times. “But...”

“Capri, this is serious – we can’t get the shiny ball if we’re dead, can we?”

She huffed before nodding, scrunching up her eyes and focusing on the _mild __uneasy provoked by_ the horde of super-fast, super strong undead that were battering through the cat’s ward, and trying to channel it into summoning up a portal.

For a moment she thought she felt the familiar _tug _within her she had begun to associate with the strange magic she used to traverse the Void, but a moment after she sensed it, it vanished, and in its place the beginnings of a headache took root behind her eyes.

“_ Capri _.”

“It’s not working!” she exclaimed, _calmly._

“What do you mean it’s not working?” said Einar. “Be more scared!”

“J’zargo feels as if he is missing something,” said the very unhelpful cat.

“I mean, it’s not working!” said Caprifexia, her voice rising a few octaves for completely unrelated reasons. “I can’t make a portal! It feels like something is blocking me.”

“Could the orb be doing it?” said Einar after a moment.

“How should I know? I don’t even understand how this power works!” she snapped. “Just because I’m a dragon doesn’t mean that I know what every single ridiculously obscure, ugly, and probably pointless magical artefact does!”

“J’zargo does not think that the spell will hold much longer,” said the cat, clearing his throat. “Or maybe it will, who knows?”

A moment later the door and ward shuddered against as an axe bit through the metal, sending out another wave of sparks and firmly answering the cat’s speculations.

“Can you teleport us J’zargo?” asked Einar.

“What?” said the cat. “No – J’zargo would need time to prepare, and next to an object like this… no, impossible. How are you not knowing this?”

“Err, well…”

“It does not matter,” said the cat. “We must fight – they will be through soon. You are the most powerful, you should take the point.”

“Oh well, um, I don’t think-”

“Now is not the time for false modesty friend,” said the cat. “We need-”

“I can’t cast any magic!” exclaimed Einar, earning a confused look from the cat. “I’m not really a wizard! I’m a fraud! A charlatan!”

“A lying dragon-credit-stealing-imposter!” supplied Caprifexia helpfully.

“But you were saying-”

“Capri is the one that can shapeshift, I don’t even know how to conjure a spark!” said Einar, his voice taking on a high-pitched quality. “I just really needed to use the library, so we pretended it was me turning her into a baby dragon.”

“I see,” said the cat neutrally, looking back at the door. “So you are useless.”

“I can fight!” protested Einar.

“You have no magic, no armour and weapons, and you are not khajiite – clawless squishy pink paws will not help you,” snorted the cat. “You will be killed in seconds.”

The mortal might have been quite hypocritical, but Caprifexia did approve of pointing out Einar’s many and varied shortcomings.

“I have a dagger,” said Einar defensively, drawing the short blade.

“So you are the powerful wizard then?” asked the cat, ignoring Einar and eyeing Caprifexia.

“Hah! I am mighty beyond your comprehension, mortal.”

“And yet you fled from the Dragur. J’zargo does not think this is true,” he said as the enchanted axe bit deep again, opening a large rent in the door through which could be seen a churning mass of pallid desiccated flesh. “But J’zargo supposes he has little choice. Not-wizard Einar, J’zargo suggests you stay behind him and the horned elf who thinks she is a dragon.”

He summoned fire to his paws, and Caprifexia did the same, worry settling into the back of her mind, like an itch in the spot between her wings where she couldn’t scratch. She had become too used to the idea that she could simply _withdraw strategically_ whenever _too busy to deal with tedious nonsense._ The idea that now she couldn’t _tactically fall back_ when necessary felt positively stifling.

She had grown more powerful in the past eight or so months since she had first arrived on Nirn, and could cast many more spells in quick succession before becoming exhausted. But she was still ultimately only a whelp. Had she been a fully grown dragon, or even a drake, she could have simply bathed the entire tunnel in blistering, magic corroding dragonfire, but her inner furnace was still far too small to produce anything like that amount of flame.

Then the ward shattered and the undead creatures streamed forward into the room, dispelling thoughts about what might have been as she and the cat unleashed blasts of fire. The mage-fire tore into the creatures, disrupting the dark energy sustaining their unlife and making them fall to the ground in charred heaps after only a moment or two of ignition. But for every one they felled there were a three more ready to leap into their place, and the unquiet dead surged forward like a tidal wave, rapidly closing the distance between the door and where Caprifexia was defending the mortals.

The cat changed tactics, launching a ball of super-cooled air from it’s paws. It worked, sort of, and the advancing undead slowed, ice forming and cracking and then reforming again reforming over their bodies as they forced their way forward through the rime. Caprifexia had to admit, to herself at least, that it was a rather impressive spell – and far better than she had expected from the upright house-pet.

She swapped tactics herself, letting her fire dissipate and summoning lightning instead. She wasn’t as proficient with it as fire, but she didn’t want to make the undead’s movement’s easier by melting the cat’s efforts.

Unfortunately it didn’t really work that well, and while it blew the odd limb off the thawing ghouls they seemed largely indifferent to even a lost leg, and simply crawled towards them as more of their fellows rushed into the circular room.

Caprifexia’s mind raced as she scrambled around for something else. She could have tried to use cryomancy as well, but ice wasn’t exactly something that most Black dragons had an affinity for, and while she knew the basics, her focus had always been on pyromancy.

But since that wasn’t working, she was going to have to try something else.

“OK Caprifexia, just remember what the textbook said: subdue the soul, break the will, and bind it to your own,” she muttered to herself, summoning up more mana and beginning to weave it into pale indigo light that flickered between her claws. She didn’t have much experience with the discipline, only ever having performed a simple banishing of a bound spirit, but if lightning wasn’t working, and fire was out, then her options for offensive magic that worked on undead were starting to run out.

“_Dominatus._ _” _she intoned, reaching out a talon and targeting a particularly big ghoul with an axe. The creature stilled, and for a moment her will battled against the magic animating it. Then she pushed past, seizing the remnant of the creature’s soul and ruthlessly crushing the last vestige of its consciousness, and a moment later the ghoul turned, cleaving through two of it’s former comrades with it’s massive battleaxe.

“Hah! You think you’re a match for me, Caprifexia, master necromancer?” she whooped, _un_surprised by her successful first attempt.

Her words had barely passed her fangs, however, when her dominated ghoul’s neighbours turned their attention toward their turned fellow, their rudimentary intellects possessing just enough insight to realise that it was now hostile, and in a few quick moments reduced her thrall to several small pieces.

“J’zargo does not think that you are really a master necromancer,” chuckled the cat as Caprifexia scowled, turning her attention to another of the ghouls and breaking it’s will.

Her second attempt had much the same result as the first, and although suddenly turning a random ghoul on it’s fellows and having them immediately begin hacking at the others was more effective than her lightning had been, it wasn’t nearly enough to stem the tide. The time it took to turn just one of the creatures to her will was simply too long, and slowly but surely both she and the cat began to retreat further across the circular room.

Still more ghouls poured into the room, and Caprifexia realised that she had to change tactics once more; breaking their will one at a time was like trying to use a bucket to put out an inferno. She needed something far more destructive than her haphazard necromancy, and more effective than her fire and lightning had been.

She could cave the tunnel in with lithomancy, but without the ability to open a portal to the Void that would just mean they died slowly, rather than quickly – and even if they got the rocks cleared afterward, the ghouls would be waiting on the other side. That, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t collapse the room along with the corridor by accident.

Caprifexia wracked her brains, her mind slowly pushing her towards a conclusion she really didn’t want to reach: that she only had one real option that wouldn’t trap them, and which might inflict enough damage to see them through the fight.

Void Magic.

Ever since she had broken free of the Old One’s chains, and become the greatest hero in the multiverse, she had been reluctant to employ or practice with the corrosive energy of the Void in even the most minor of ways. The power was inherently dangerous to one’s sanity, and, even for a dragon, exhausting to wield, and even a single mistake with it would destroy the user and their soul utterly.

When she had been corrupted, like the rest of her flight, those dangers had been lessened somewhat, but it had still been not something undertaken lightly, and when she had practised with it back in Blackrock Spire it had only been under the intense supervision of an experienced Wyrm, and with very small quantities. Quantities far smaller than what she was going to have to employ to stop the ghouls.

But it was powerful. Incredibly, unbelievably powerful, and she couldn’t see any other option that didn’t result in almost certain death. So steeling herself with a draconic growl she plunged past the surface mana that swirled and churned around her, delving down to where an eldritch, terror inducing energy scrabbled against the borders of reality. She reached out with her mind, grabbing as much of it as she dared before dragging it up and into herself.

Mind bending energy, utterly devoid of colour swirled around her talons, drinking in the light around it as its whispers began to assault her mind. They promised her power, glory, everything she could have ever wanted if only she’d le͐t̘̺͊̊ ť͖̙͙̠̾ͪͯh̘̫̭̙e̠̖̮ͦͫ͒m̟̪ iͫ̃̄̅ͧ̍̆̍̈ͣ̇͆̄ͩnͧ̉ͩ̽ͬ̋͘͏̟̦͔̬̪͍̕ .

But Caprifexia wasn’t some novitiate mortal when it came to the Old God’s whispers, and pushed them aside, focusing instead on weaving the void energy into the correct form for what she needed to do. The voices grew more frantic and insistent as she fed the spell, straining against her mental control, and her heartbeat became louder and louder in her ears as colour bled away from the world. Still she poured more power in, letting the ball of swirling hyper-entropic energy build until it was larger than she was.

She dimly heard herself yelling for the mortals to take cover, before she shoved the ball of unreality toward the ghouls and let go of the spell.

The corrosive energies rocketed forward, barrelling straight through the first few ranks of undead until it struck the ground somewhere near the centre of the horde. For a moment the colourless energy collapsed in on itself, and there was a brief moment of stillness before with a blast of deafening sound the energy exploded outward, washing over the undead constructs, tearing through decayed flesh, withered bone, necromantic energy, and stone floor alike and simply erasing it all from existenc from one moment to the next.

Caprifexia flapped back, ears ringing and hoping that she hadn’t miscalculated the power involved as the ball of expanding non-existence raced outward from the point of impact, getting closer and closer to them. It was possible for a skilled and powerful spellcaster to contain Void energy, but <strike>even</strike> Caprifexia knew that was, for the moment at least, beyond her abilities.

She s_mugly noted that she had gotten the spell perfect_ as the devoid energy ceased it’s expansion a few feet in-front of the cat, who was scrambling backward on the ground with a look of terror in his eyes.

Capifexia was about to say something _appropriately pithy_ when a wave of exhaustion washed over her and her wings suddenly felt far too heavy to flap any longer. She crashed to the ground, yelping as she landed on her still only partly healed leg. Her vision flickered, and she must have blacked out for a few moments, because the next thing she knew she was vaguely aware that Einar was dragging her across the ground.

“Stop that minion,” she slurred angrily. “Bad mortal.”

“Capri – you need to make a portal, you need to make it now!” yelled Einar.

“Not so loud,” she winced. Why did Einar always whinge at her? She never whinged. “What are you complaining about now?”

“You didn’t get them all!”

“Inconceivable,” she said, drunkenly raising her head towards where, in complete insolent defiance of their draconic betters, nearly two dozen of the undead creatures were scrambling through the perfect half-sphere of a crater from where her spell had detonated.

The cat was attempting to hold them back, but without her indomitable might to assist him he was proving to be incapable of the task.

A sliver of _unease_ reasserted itself into her tired mind as she realised that she’d exhausted herself entirely, and wasn’t going to be able to fight them off. Yes, Einar was right, it was time for a tactical retreat.

Focusing on her _slight concern_, she tried to use it to push aside the barriers of reality once more. She once again felt the process take hold for a moment, before once again running headlong into the same block, and immediately her headache ratcheted up another few notches.

“Capri!”

“Can’t,” she said. “Trying.”

Einar stopped dragging her, and she realised that they’d reached the far side of the room. The cat was still casting balls of ice, but his movements were becoming sluggish, and his spells were even more feeble than his initial amateur flailings.

It suddenly struck her that she was going to die. The minute the cat became as exhausted as she was they would be overrun in seconds. Above her Einar readied his dagger and set his jaw, and the cat stepped back and poured his magic into a swirling golden shield, erecting it just in time to stop a jagged looking sword from taking his head off.

Caprifexia lay still for a moment, before growling and shakily pushing herself off the ground and wobbling to Einar’s side. If she was going to die, she wasn’t going to do it lying down.

She was a dragon; guardian of mortal-kind; the greatest hero in existence. And maybe she didn’t know a whole lot about heroism just yet, but she knew enough that you didn’t let your friend’s face their deaths alone. Even annoying and disrespectful mortal ones.

Cracks began to appear on the cat’s shield, and Caprfexia tensed, bringing the rest of her dragonfire up her gullet, waiting for the barrier to fall to unleash the last of her might.

Before the barrier fell, however, the attention of the ghouls turned, and a few moments later a wave of fire rolled over their back ranks, turning the corpses to burning pyres and washing forward, larger than anything the cat, or even she, had produced. As it faded, the shape of a familiar black and gold clad elf became apparent through the heat haze, bringing with it a feeling of intense relief.

“Ah, look what we have here,” said Arakno as he blasted apart the rest of the stragglers in what, even Caprifexia had to admit, was reasonably impressive magic. For a mortal, of course.

“Your timing is most excellent,” said Caprifexia, walking shakily forward as the exhausted cat lowered his shield. “They were beginning to become a bother.”

Arakno frowned at her for a moment, before raising a confused eyebrow. “Miss Caprifexia?” he said uncertainly.

“Oh,” she said, having forgot she was in her true form, and taking a moment to shift back and wobbling slightly from her exertion. “Ah, yes – that definitely wasn’t my real form. I’m an altmer,” she said, deceptively. “Not a dragon at all.”

“I thought that it was him that could…” he said looking at Einar and frowning, before shaking his head. “Irrelevant, I suppose. I am glad that you are unharmed. It would be a tragedy for the brightest student in this frozen hellscape to have perished.”

“It seems that luck is with khajiite today after all,” said the cat, once again interrupting. “Hail Arcano, J’zargo is most pleased to see you.”

Arakno barely even looked at the cat, instead advancing on the orb and stroking his chin.

“Incredible,” he said. “So much more remarkable in person…”

“J’zargo thinks it is doing something to the space around it,” said the cat, coming to a stop beside Arakno. “Perhaps it is what the ancient snow elves were-”

The cat’s speculations were abruptly cut off as the elf turned, unleashing a blast of lightning straight into the cat’s chest with a contemptuous flick of his wrist.

“What are you doing?” said Caprifexia, taking a half-step back in surprise, not entirely sure what was going on as the cat collapsed onto the dusty stone floor.

“Cleaning up,” said Arakno, his lip curling.

As a mage the cat had some innate resistance to magic, but taking a spell like that point blank was still almost certainly fatal. The cat had been irritating, sure, but Caprifexia didn’t think that warranted a summary execution. As far as she understood things, that was a villainous action – something that a friendly elf shouldn’t have done. Was there something she had missing? Had she somehow not noticed that the cat had really been a villain? But no, Einar had said that even villains shouldn’t be summarily killed – that was what had gotten her into trouble about the proto-drakes and the ‘proto-drake-born’ in the first place. What was going on?

“Hmm,” said Arakno, before turning to Einar, who has his dagger out. “It seems, Miss Caprifexia, that we also have a good opportunity to rid you of this _pest.”_

Time seemed to slow for Caprifexia as saw him raise his hand towards Einar, realisation dawning on her as lightning arced over the elf’s hand as he prepared another bolt of lightning. Caprifexia’s eyes widened as it suddenly struck her that, somehow, against all odds, Einar had been right.

Arakno was not really a friendly elf at all.

Caprifexia was moving before she realised what she was doing, and as the magic shot from the elf’s fist her she stepped in front of Einar, taking the blast in his stead.

The bolt struck her in the sternum, and the force knocked her backwards, straight into Einar, and sent them both tumbling to the floor. Caprifexia screamed and spasmed as every nerve in her body fired simultaneously, and felt thick coppery blood spill over her tongue as she bit it in her paroxysms.

“Why would you- you foolish girl! I didn’t mean to-” she heard Arakno say, his voice distraught as her vision flickered once more. “What a _waste_. You had such potential_…_”

“J’zargo does… not understand,” said the cat. _“Why?”_

“You think the I was ever going to let a bunch of dilettantes at the end of the world claim this prize?” said Arakno, his voice resuming it’s more usual, snooty tone. “You don’t even know what it _is, _of what it will be capable of in Her hands. This world will be unmade, khajiite, and the altmer will assume their rightful place as _Gods. _Not that you’ll live to see it…”

There was a burst of complex magic, followed by a series of fading footsteps, and a few moment’s later, as her body began to stop shaking, Einar moved beneath her, gently rolling her off him.

“Capri, Capri!?” he said, shaking her shoulders.

“Why must you mortals be so _loud!_” she winced as her muscles gradually started listening to her once more, looking down and grimacing at where her coat had been burnt through and angry seared flesh was visible beneath.

“How are you… not dead?”

“Dragons are naturally resistant to magic, do keep up,” she wheezed. “What, you thought I would throw myself in front of you if I thought I might die? That would be mad. Insane. Definitely not something I would have done. Just let me… catch my breath.”

“You-” he began, before his head snapped towards the fallen cat. “J’zargo!”

He rushed toward the cat’s side, and a few moments later the smell of cooked cat began to fill the room which, as someone who had eaten smaller, non-allegedly-sapient cats before, Caprifexia didn’t think actually smelled too bad.

Would it be unheroic to eat a tasty cat if it had died of non-Caprifexia related causes? She’d have to ask Einar.

“This is bad,” said Einar. “We need to find a healer.”

Further down the corridor there was a boom and a rush of magic, and the ceiling shook above them, raining down dust.

“What was that?” he said.

“Some kind of earth magic, _obviously,_” said Caprifexia, putting her hand to her chest and willing her coat, which in reality was just a construct of magic, back together. Her chest ached terribly, and she wouldn’t have said no to some healing herself, despite her <strike>bravado</strike> _heroic bravery._ “That annoying elf, who I certainly didn’t ever like at all, is trying to crush us.”

“You must go,” wheezed the cat. “It might not be too late for you.”

“Good idea-” agreed Caprifexia, pushing herself shakily up into a sitting position. Her head was throbbing horrifically, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and have a good, long nap, but the thought of being crushed meant that she was willing to forgo that – for now at least.

“We’re _not_ going to leave you,” said Einar firmly as dust and pebbles started to rain down on them. “Not after you saved our lives. Capri, can you open a portal now that the orb is gone?”

Capri huffed in irritation at the absurd idea that the _cat _had saved their lives, but nevertheless scrunched up her face and tried to find something to be _mildly perturbed by,_ doing her best to ignore the crushing fatigue_._

Then a rock larger than she was landed beside her and with a yelp a tear into the void opened.

She scrambled through it on all fours, trying to ignore the way that her chest burned and the Void tendrils and eyeballs squished and oozed beneath her fingers. Einar joined her a moment later, the trembling cat in his arms, and as soon as he was through the sound of falling rocks cut off as the portal snapped closed.

“Where have you taken J’zargo?” asked the cat in a weak voice. “Is this Oblivion? Are you Daedra?”

“No friend,” said Einar. “Just focus on staying conscious, OK? We’ll get you help. And… wait, Capri, are you really OK? Can you stand?”

“Of course,” she said, shakily clawing her way upright with the help of a nearby piece of only partially collapsed masonry. “Totally fine.”

“You’re badly hurt,” he said.

“Nonsense – I am a dragon.”

“And you really can’t heal at all?”

“No! I’m a wizard, not a priestess!” she snapped, closing her eyes and trying to push back her throbbing headache.

“I don’t… never-mind. If you can’t heal, we need to find someone who can.”

“The fools in that dusty city didn’t even have magic,” she said, coughing a few times. “Tasty fish though.”

“J’zargo does like… tasty fish…” said the cat.

“What about your world? That has powerful magic doesn’t it? Could you find it?”

Caprifexia shifted uneasily. “I… might recognise the architecture. But I do not know how far it is above us – and an Old God will find us if we linger in this place too long, and I don’t think I can… walk very fast.”

“J’zargo is going to die if we don’t get him to a healer, and you don’t look to good yourself,” he said. For a moment she was confused, before she suddenly realised that the cat was actually _called_ J’zargo. She supposed that made some sense – she had just assumed it was something weird he, and maybe other Nirnians, said every now and then. “It should be directly above us, more or less, right?”

Caprifexia looked up. There were a dozen or so visible platforms with planes above them before the swirling darkness of the void swallowed the meandering structures, but at a glance none seemed to feature any obviously Azerothian architecture.

“Maybe,” she said. “Dimensions quite clearly don’t work precisely like reality here, but it is possible I suppose. But if we don’t find it in the next twenty minutes, we musttake the closest world. Getting the cat to a healer will be the least of our concerns if an Old God finds us – you mortals will go insane after just a glimpse.”

“J’zargo is… not a cat,” said the cat in a faint voice.

Einar nodded grimly and moved off, Caprifexia following at a slower pace as made their way away from Nirn, taking the most upward of the bridges that led between the different planes in the Void. Every breath seared in her lungs, and she found herself, for the first time in her life, growing cold.

That wasn’t a good sign, she knew. Her inner furnace, an essential component of the bridge between her astral and physical forms, was located in her chest, and might have been disrupted by the horrible, nasty elf’s magic, since wounds transferred over between her mortal and true guises. And if that was true, then she was much more injured than she had thought.

Why _had _she jumped in front of Einar? It had been a foolish, reckless thing to do. Certainly nothing befitting a dragon, even an heroic one like her. After all, Einar, no matter how _much she tolerated him,_ was in the end only a mortal, whereas she was the greatest hero in the multiverse. He would age and die, hopefully not for some time, but inevitably. Whereas she was immortal, and therefore had the potential to save a hypothetically infinite number of weak and vulnerable mortals. It was only logical then an immortal life was more important than a mortal’s. Wasn’t it?

“We need to stop,” she gasped as they reached a platform made up of gothic structures, almost, but not quite, like Gilnean buildings, which strangely weren’t ruined or damaged in the slightest – unlike every other entrance they had come across thus far. “I cannot see Azerothian architecture above us, and it’s been nearly twenty minutes.”

Einar grimaced and looked down at the cat, who’s eyes were fluttering open and closed, and then to Caprifexia, who was shivering violently.

“Talos damn it,” he said, moving towards the orb of light that led to the unknown world. “We’ll have to try here then.”


	9. A Stay of Summary Exorcism

Caprifexia’s portal from the void snapped shut behind her as she cluched her chest. What felt like icy fingers slowly tightened their grip on her core, worming their way into her inner furnace inch by agonising inch.

The nasty elf Arakno, who she had definitely always disliked, had possibly hurt her much worse than she had initially suspected. Although she was tougher than any mere mortal, her inner furnace was very magical, and very important, and the horrible elf’s lightning had almost certainly disrupted it. And she was cold; _so cold_. That, more than anything else perturbed her. Mildly. Being cold, like dying, was something mortal_s _did. Not dragons. Not her.

The unpleasant stench of stagnant water and rot pressed themselves against her nostrils. Unsurprising, given that they seemed to have emerged in the middle of some kind of mortal settlement. Mortals, she had discovered, were pretty much multiversally disgusting.

Ramshackle mouldering buildings rose either side of a twisting cobbled street, and an immense silver moon dominated the sky. There were lanterns dotted along the street, but none were lit, and several of them looked broken.

The magic of the place was laden with a heavy, sickly feeling, a cloying charge that she associated with a site regularly used for dark magic: necromancy, umbramancy, and curse rituals. There was no wind to speak of, lending the entire place an oppressive, sluggish atmosphere.

The buildings were all boarded up, although here and there the wooden planks had been split open in great rents from what looked like claws, and whatever or whoever had been pulled back through the gaps had left smears of blood, now long dried. Typical poor quality mortal construction. If a dragon had made the defences, they would have been thick enchanted metal. With spikes.

“Help!” called out Einar into the darkness. “We need a healer!”

“They can’t understand you,” slurred Caprifexia, her head spinning as she attempted to keep up with not only her seemingly never ending task of educating her mortal charge, but also the increasingly difficult prospect of staying upright. She staggered, catching herself against one of the cold metal lamp-posts. “You’re just a silly mortal.”

“You’re really hurt,” said Einar in his most fussy tone.

“Nonsense. Just need to catch my breath,” she said, sliding a bit further down the lamp and finding a more comfortable position near the bottom. “I am… dragon.”

“And you can’t heal at all?”

“I’m a wiz-” she began, trailing off as the energy around her shifted and her head lolled upward, her wobbly vision centring on a dark alley at a right angle to where they had arrived. Although Einar wouldn't have been able to see anything, limited creature that he was, dragons, in addition to their other virtually endless superior traits, had better eyesight than humans, and even in the darkness she could make out six humanoid figures drawing closer.

“Oh thank the divines,” said Einar a few moments later, when even his inferior mortal eyes eventually noticed them. “Capri ask them for help-”

“Don’t think they want to help us,” said Capri, clumsily pushing past him as six sets of yellow eyes zeroed in on her, confirming that she had indeed felt a whisper of dark, necromantic magic marking their approach. Undead.

Without hearing or reading their language first, even a dragon couldn’t address them in their likely filthy tongue. But equally, since she was a dragon, she also had a way around that particular problem. With far more effort than it would have usually took for what was a pretty simple spell she reached for some of the surrounding power, wove it somewhat clumsily into a spell, and used it to launch a bundle of thought towards the undead.

She wasn’t exactly skilled with telepathy, and without touch couldn’t do more than transmit simple impressions, but she did have at least something going for her in the present situation. Even as a whelp her mind was infinitely more complex with any mortal’s. That mean that rather than just projecting a simple impression that could be missed or ignored, she could blast out a bundle of intent at the mental equivalent of ear-splitting volume.

**<BACK OFF, I’M BIGGER AND SCARIER THAN YOU ARE! _RAWR_!>**

The figures recoiled as her telepathic threat washed over them, whatever remained of their rotting prey-instincts recognising her for what she was. For a moment she thought they might turn and run, but then the leader rallied.

“Look and think you twits – she’s just an exhausted elf,” he said in an ugly language that featured a lot of ‘V’ and ‘Z’ sounds. “All bark, no _bite_.”

Several sharpened teeth flashed in amused grins, and if Caprifexia had had any doubts as to the character of the shambling corpses before, they were totally and utterly dispelled. She didn’t need Einar’s help to know that puns, and the appreciation thereof, were clearly signs of irredeemable villainy.

“Vampires,” said Einar beside her_, _once again demonstrating that while he was just a mortal, he had a mastery of at least one thing exceeding even the most gifted and powerful dragon: stating the obvious.

“Don’t you _dare_ stab me again,” said Caprifexia woozily, wobbling to the left as her vision flickered as she strained to draw more on the surrounding mana. She almost lost her mental grip on the energy, before with snarl she forced it into a fireball that burst into existence around her right hand.

The ghouls paused their advance once more, and Caprifexia smiled as toothily as they had. Yes, even at her most exhausted, a Scion of the Titans was in an utterly different league to a bunch of mangy, ugly, filthy bloodsuckers-

The fire around her hand gutted out, and her vision flickered again as a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Somehow she had also fallen to her knees, and there appeared to be blood dripping down from one of her nostrils. That wasn’t ideal.

Perhaps, she considered, she should open another portal. After all, even a dragon couldn’t really fight properly while face down on dirty cobblestones – something she couldn’t really remember happening. Hadn’t she been on her knees?

Yes, she’d open a way out in just a moment. After she’d had a chance to catch her breath. Maybe rest her eyes…

Caprifexia was vaguely aware that Einar was screaming her name, but the thing that took most of her rapidly diminishing focus was the sudden abrupt shift in the magic around her.

It was being drawn together somewhere to her right, and with a mighty force of will she turned her head from where she had fallen and opened her eyes, staying conscious just long enough to see a vortex of dark magic and a set of rather well made looking leather boots step out onto the filthy mortal road.

*********

Caprifexia opened her eyes slowly, wincing and closing them again a moment later as bright silver light seared its way into her retinas. Her chest ached terribly, and it felt like a wedge had been driven into her mind, but she was no longer cold, which was a good sign.

Wait? Cold? When was she ever cold? What had been going on? They’d been in Sarthaal, and…

Her head jerked upright as she remembered what had happened: the ghouls, Arakno’s betrayal, and finally the vampires. She didn’t seem to be still on the filthy street anymore, and instead was in a large workshop, lying on a desk in her true whelpling form – odd, since she definitely remembered having a nap in her humanoid guise.

Overflowing bookshelves dominated the curving room, punctuated only by windows and an immense blackboard filled with thaumic calculations and sketches. Back in Blackrock Spire her eldest brother, Nefarion, had had something similar. She and her brood had had the occasional class in there, and she could still recall the various laws and formulae for necromantic magic that had been scrawled across the slate.

In one corner near a window Einar was sleeping on a couch, his mortal chest rising and falling gently. He didn’t look injured, which was good. The cat was there too, and didn’t seem to be dying anymore. She supposed that was good too, in a more abstract sort of way: like the fact that somewhere, some-when, some dragon had made sure that the mortals understood how to make fire so they didn’t freeze during the winter, or that greedy and shortsighted mortals hadn’t yet bred enough to over-fish all the rivers, leaving none for dragons.

She her head turned further, freezing and baring her fangs when she spotted a white haired figure across the room. Silver moonlight framed an aristocratic face, within which burned the malevolent yellow eyes of an undead. Apparently Einar hadn’t dealt with all of them like she’d trusted him to when she’d had her nap. _Typical_.

“Stay back, fiend!” she said, taking to wing and summoning fire to her talons. Unlike when she had first arrived onto the plane the magic leapt effortlessly to her command, and huge gouts of flame erupted around her claws, billowing upward higher than her wings.

The vampire sighed, apparently unaware that he was mere moments from destruction. “Extinguish that before you hurt yourself, you foolish child.”

“Your mind magic won’t work on me, ghoul! Fear me, for I am greater than any hero you have ever faced! My teeth are daggers; my claws, blades; my mind, beyond your comprehension! I am an immortal being of cosmic power! I am Caprifexia, Herald of the Titans, last daughter of Deathwing the Destroyer, and the Greatest Hero in the Multiverse!”

The vampire sighed again.

“Well I have never heard of you,” he said, before his ugly pallid face grew harder. “Your father, however…”

Caprifexia hesitated. How did this ghoul know her father? Was she back on Azeroth? No – no, the architecture in the Void had been wrong, and the sort of circular ‘Y’ symbols etched into almost everything had born no similarities to any of the humanoid symbols she knew. Also, as far as she was aware, vampires, or San’layn as they were properly called, had been exterminated when the mortal armies had crushed the undead Scourge. They were also usually ex-elves, not ex-humans. Someone could have remade them, she supposed, but that seemed unlikely to her given the time that had passed.

Which meant…

“You can travel the Void?” she said, pouring more magic into the fire churning around her talons. “Pah, if you think that will help you, you are mistaken!”

“My name is Sorin Markov,” he said slowly, ignoring his increasingly impending doom. “I was the one who healed you, as well as your Khajiite friend. You are in my ancestral home, and safe here as my guests – _provided_ you do not try to set my laboratory on fire.”

She flicked her eyes over to where Einar was sleeping, searching for any kind of mystical curses or enchantments. There was a small field of simple magic around him that seemed to be aimed at reducing sound from outside it, but nothing more than that.

“Why did you help them, abomination?” she said idiomatically after a few moments.

“To modify a proverb, ‘dragons in glass houses shouldn’t cause earthquakes,’” he blathered, his rotten brain apparently interpreting her demand to mean she was discussing the construction of some kind of indoor agriculture and tectonic magic. “I am told you are aware of the trans-planar nature of the Eldrazi?” he continued, the conversation swerving wildly away from plant cultivation. “‘Old Gods’ as your friend termed them.”

“What about them?” said Caprifexia, slowly. “And when did you speak to Einar?”

“When we arrived. You are fortunate to have such a dedicated advocate, for I was going to slay you when I realised what you were,” he said. “But let us return to topic at hand. The Eldrazi are a fundamental threat to not only your plane, but all planes of existence. You understand this?”

“I understand more than you can possibly conceive, you mouldering corpse,” she said. “But that still doesn’t explain why you offered your – nominal – assistance to my friends.”

The vampire had the gall to glare at her. “And you! You would be dead if not for my intervention!”

“Pah. I am a dragon. It was merely a flesh wound-”

“You were unconscious and _barely breathing, _you had utterly exhausted your spiritual reserves, and your soul was beginning to disintegrate you ridiculous, _arrogant_ lizard!_”_

“I was just… having a nap,” she said convincingly. It might have been stretching the truth a little, but this ‘Sorbet Melon,’ or whatever he called himself, didn’t need to know that.

The vampire took a deep, useless breath and exhaled slowly, re-evaluating his flawed memory of the situation. Probably.

“I hate children,” he muttered to himself, meanly. “And dragons. Why did she have to be a dragon _and_ a child?”

“I can hear you, you filthy dragonist!”

“I have travelled to Azeroth, and know what your people are,” he said, picking up his goblet, which smelt of tasty blood, and taking a sip. He was, unsurprisingly, a poor host, however, and didn’t offer her one. Undead were so rude. Revolting, and rude. And disgusting. And bigoted. Revolting, rude, disgusting and bigoted; yes, that pretty much summed up the state of undeath.

“Yes, I understand that – do keep up.”

“Your friend said that you had managed to break the Eldrazi’s hold over you,” he continued, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I was… sceptical to say the least. I have never known something they have twisted to be redeemed, but could find no hint of any foothold in your mind.”

Caprifexia was more than a bit annoyed that someone had looked through her mind while she was napping, and her first impulse was to immediately destroy him. The only thing that stayed her talons was that she wasn’t entirely sure that that would be heroic, since he had apparently helped her friend.

Einar had twittered on and on about how she should feel grateful if someone helped her. Which was pretty strange, since it was clearly the mortals who should be grateful for an opportunity to help their betters, dragons.

Unfortunately Einar was also asleep, which meant she couldn’t check, so, after a moment of deliberation, she decided to give the_ apparently_ friendly ghoul the benefit of he doubt and not immediately incinerate him.

Besides, she was actually quite interested to discuss the Old Gods and her change with someone. A dragon would have been better, obviously, but she supposed he would do as a poor substitute until a proper intellectual peer could be found.

And after all, she could always destroy him later.

“They stopped Whispering to me after the first time I travelled to another world,” she explained, slowly letting the fire around her talons dissipate and landing back on the table.

“So the ‘Whispers’ ended, and presumably your corruption, when your Spark ignited?”

“My what? ‘Spark?’”

“You’ve never met another of our kind? At all?”

Caprifexia scoffed at the idea that a vampire of all things was ‘her kind.’

The Vampire gave her a withering look. “To put it simply, you and I are beings known as Planeswalkers. We are born with a Spark within us, which at some point, usually under stressful circumstances, ignites. It is what allows us to travel through the Blind Eternities – or ‘Void’ as you term it – to different planes of existence. For every other Planeswalker I have ever met this transit occurs, from their perspective at least, instantaneously. But your friend said you move physically through it yes? And can take others? Describe it – please.”

Caprifexia didn’t really like being interrogated. Dragons were repositories of near infinite wisdom, true, but they dispensed it on their own terms.

But the vampire had helped her friend, apparently, and asked nicely – which was admirable in some small way, she supposed. So trying to improve his limited understanding did seem to be fair, as well as heroic. And she _was _a fair, heroic, amazing, kind, and benevolent dragon after all.

“The Void is full of platforms of mishmashed architecture strung together with bridges, floating amidst clouds of energy. Dimensions seem to be slightly unstable, and up and down aren’t as consistent as they should be,” she said in a lecturing tone. “To put my intricate current hypothesis in simple terms that even you might understand, I believe that the platforms are made by the Old Gods as an attempt to break their way into the various realities.”

“And what was Innistrad – this plane – like?” he asked, sitting back and swirling his goblet as he reflected upon her immense wisdom.

“Mostly this sort of ugly architecture,” she said, gesturing to the high ceiling inlaid with gothic details, snarling gargoyles, skulking ghouls, and writhing tentacles. “Although it was less decrepit than the other platforms I’ve seen.”

“Perhaps that is a result of my defences …” he mused, apparently so egotistical and deluded that he thought that _he_, a simple vampire, could affect something like the fabric of an entire reality. “And the others, they traverse these ‘bridges’ with you?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “But since he is just a limited mortal, Einar doesn’t see it as it really is, not properly. And I didn’t either, not until we were attacked by an Old God.”

“You gazed upon the face of a true Eldrazi and survived?” he said in a sceptical voice. “Are you entirely sure it was not merely some kind of inter-planar spirit or elemental?”

“I am a dragon.”

The vampire blinked. “What?” he said after a few beats of silence.

“I am a dragon.”

“I did not mishear you,” he said in an exasperated tone – presumably annoyed that his own limited and possibly rotting cognitive capabilities couldn’t grasp the sprawling didactic expanse of her concise statement. “But that is not an explanation!”

“_Pfft. _Shows what you know._”_

“Why_ –_ _in terms that are not related to you being an irritating, flying, fire-breathing lizard_ – are you sure it was not another kind of inter-planar being?”

“You mort- err… _undead_, are so rude,” she sniffed, before beginning to explain the details very slowly in the hope he might understand. That was, after all, what a hero would do. “I am a _dragon – _you’re still following? OK. Now, the Old Gods are _bad_. You know what ‘bad’ means, yes? Excellent, you’re doing wonderfully_. _They made my people who are, remember, _dragons, _also _bad_. This means that we,_ the dragons,_ are experts on them._”_

The Vampire ran a trembling hand through his hair, clearly struggling and failing to understand even her hatchling level explanation.

“So I, and remember that I’m a _dragon_, know what they are like,” she continued slowly. “That is why I know how to _recognise_ – that big word means to understand what one sees – an Old God, who, again, are _bad_, when I see one. Was that clear enough for you?”

“Like pulling teeth…” muttered the Vampire, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. Caprifexia didn’t really see how a clear explanation was like dentistry. But maybe it was a foolish vampire thing. They were pretty weird after all, and had a fetish for biting.

Sorbet fell silent, and while he dealt with whatever undead neurosis was bothering him at that moment Caprifexia took the time to look around.

In addition to thousands of books on what looked like magic, there were also all sorts of magical artefacts strewn about the place, several of which looked like they were halfway under construction.

Arteficing had always been an interest of hers – one she hadn’t been able to really pursue since the fall of Blackrock Spire, so she flapped over to one of the in process of being built. It was a mess of runed plates of various thaumicaly conductive metals, several gemstones, and ugly, functionally un-necessary cladding.

From a cursory glance it it seemed to be some kind of device that would amplify magical signals, although it seemed to have several glaring errors in its receiver. As far as she could tell it was only going to be able to detect a very narrow band of magical energy, which seemed pretty silly. What if there were signals on other bands?

She fixed it.

“Get away from that!” said the vampire as she was just finishing carving her improvements into one of the runic arrays with her razor-sharp talons.

“I was helping,” she sniffed as he moved towards her, shooing her away as he looked over her work.

“I do not need the help of a juvenile reptile,” he snapped, meanly, as she flapped back.

“Of course,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why your receiver could only detect a tiny band of magical energy. _Fool_.”

“What have you- oh you little pest, you’ve ruined it!”

“That’s a funny way to say ‘improved.’”

“No, not improved! You’ve made it so it’s going to detect everything, which is going to absolutely ruin its range. Spirits, I’m going to have to go to Kaladesh again just to replace this _one_ part! Do not touch_ anything_ else, understand?”

“Fine, have your silly broken artefacts, see if I care!”

“It was not broken; it was built to only detect white mana signals for a _reason!”_

“‘White mana?’ Mana doesn’t have colours, or shades,” she chortled. “Silly vampire.”

The ghoul roared inarticulately and bared his teeth. For a moment she thought he might make a lunge at her, and fire began to glow beneath her scales in her chest as she prepared to incinerate him. But then the moment passed as he balled his hands into fists, unaware of how close he had come to total anihillation.

“Yes. It. Does,” he said, trying and failing to reign in his worryingly intense anger at the immense scope of his own inadequacy. “There are five different kinds of mana. The Azerothian and Nirnian wizarding traditions are anomalies in the multiverse, not the rule.”

Caprifexia laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No,” growled the Vampire. “_It_ _isn’t_. Red, Blue, Black, White, Green. Each reflects different aspects of the planes of the multiverse, and by virtue of their structure lend themselves to different forms of magic.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Caprifexia. “The Twisting Nether-”

“-is an _artificial _phenomenon,” snapped Sorbet. “Something, I am not sure what, created that stellar phenomenon. It is not_ normal. _The place we are standing on, however, is a locus of Black mana: energy suited towards necromancy, umbramancy, sanguimancy, vlasfimancy, and offensive-telepathy.”

“Then how am I using this ‘Black’ ambient mana to perform pyromancy you foolish corpse?” she chortled, drawing on the energy around her and shaping it into fire that danced around her talons as she wiggled them at him.

“By transmuting the energy through your soul, which is a rare, and _exhausting _way of casting magic.”

“For a _mortal _perhaps.”

Sorbet took several more deep breaths, before apparently losing the battle with his wild and erratic temper.

“Listen you horrible little reptile,” he snarled, jabbing a finger at her. “I am attempting to help you, to educate you and give you access to more power in the hopes that you do not get yourself probably quite justifiably murdered before you can mature into a potentially useful ally. But you are not making it easy for me!”

“You’re the horrible one,” she said reasonably. “A horrible and nasty undead. I bet you don’t have any friends!”

“In the multiverse there exist several different forms of mana,” he said, ignoring her cutting jibe. “Mana which can be utilised either by drawing on the ambient energy around them, or by the wizard forming a bond between themselves and a place and calling on it across a distance. What _you _do is a variation on the former, and is possible because you are Azerothian. What I do is the latter, and means that I have access to not only potentially vastly more power than you do, but also do not grow tired through spellcasting.”

Caprifexia clicked her teeth before slowly landing on a bench. The undead might be moody, annoying, and have a very fragile ego, but she _did _like the idea of accruing more power.

For strictly heroic purposes, of course.

“Very well… go on,” she said.

_“_How_ magnanimous_ of you_,_” said the vampire, finally locating his manners and addressing her properly. “As I was saying, this place, Markov Manor and it’s surrounds, are a locus of Black mana. Because I possess the correct disposition to bond with it, and also have the skill to make a connection, I am able to draw on the power of this place, the energy of the land itself, wherever I am in the multiverse.”

“That does sound quite useful…” she admitted. If she’d been able to cast magic without growing tired, there was no way those ghouls could have overwhelmed her in Sarthaal. Not that she had really been in any danger. She’d had it all under control. Definitely.

“As I said, there are also four other kinds of mana. Red reflects a passion. It is a fiery energy that usually can be found in mountains and badlands. Astrapmancy, pyromancy, cryomancy, terramancy and a few other forms of magic. I am not suited to it’s… wild emotion myself-”

“Really? That’s surprising. You seem to have a temper problem,” she observed. “I’ve almost had to destroy you three times in this conversation alone.”

“Normally I do not,” he said in clipped tones. “Dragons, however, for some reason, I’ve _no idea _why, seem to fill me with murderous rage.”

“Your own inadequacy is most likely the root of those feelings. Have you tried accepting that we’re better than you at everything? It shouldn’t be too hard since, even to you, it must be obvious.”

The took a shuddering breath and mimed strangling something around the size of Caprifexia’s neck.

“Green is the magic of life and nature, it is formed by areas of the multiverse that embody unity and interdependent strength,” he said, lowering his hands – clearly not willing to confront his small, limited nature. “Spells for strengthening, healing, and animation of nature are some of the domain of green magic. It is another of the forms I share little affinity for – for obvious reasons.”

“Because you’re a rotting corpse?”

“I’m not… never-mind,” he said, shaking his head. “White is the magic of order and tradition. Hieromancy, fosomancy, healing, and various strengthening and bolstering enchantments are what it is typically suited for. It is rigid and unyielding, but also inflexible. I have some skill with it, although it is not my primary focus.”

“Lastly there is Blue, which is an energy suited to the quick of wit. It is tricky, subtle, and while not as overwhelmingly powerful as Red or Black, as any warrior knows, even the strongest blow can be turned aside with a skilful parry. Illusion, counter-spells, chronomancy, all facets of telepathy, and to a degree astrapmancy are possible with Blue.”

“And is it possible to gain connections with all of these different ‘aspects of reality?’” asked Caprifexia.

“I have only met one such being, a dragon-”

“Of course,” nodded Caprifexi smugly. It would obviously have been dragons that had taken the mastery of this convoluted sounding power to it’s apex. That had been a given.

Sorbet massaged his temples again.

“But in many thousands of years they are the only being I have met capable of wielding the sum of creation,” he said. “Normally a wizard will specialise with a single colour. Some will possess ability with a second, and occasionally even a third type of mana. It is also possible, as a person’s personality changes, for them to find it more difficult to draw on one type of mana, and easier to draw on another.”

"And your powers are ‘Black’ and ‘White?’” she said. “Aren’t they opposed?”

“All of us contain contradictions.”

“Perhaps that is why you’re so neurotic?”

“Oh yes, _I’m _the neurotic one,” admitted Sorbet flatly as Caprifexia clicked her teeth again and considered what he had said.

“What about Void Magic?” she said. “That doesn’t seem to fall into any of those categories – despite some people, usually mortals, confusing it with umbramancy, it isn’t – and the power for it doesn’t come from _inside _reality – least of all patches of dirt.”

Sorbet’s white eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward with a hungry look in his eyes. “You are still capable of using the magic of the Eldrazi? Even now you are no longer corrupted?”

“Even I, a dragon, have to be careful, but yes,” she nodded.

“Fascinating,” said the Vampire, steeping his fingers once more and falling into a brooding silence.

Caprifexia went back to looking at his artefacts, although resisted the impulse to help fix them since apparently her genius wasn’t appreciated. His loss, she supposed.

“Perhaps that is why you physically move through the Eternities, why you can bring others with you,” he said eventually. “Despite the corruption, the ‘Whispers’ as you put it, being purged from your body and soul, you retain an instinctual and intuitive understanding of the Blind Eternities, or as you say, the ‘Void.’ I wonder…”

He brooded some more.

“All this silly sounding ‘magical theory’ does not explain why you are helping me,” said Caprifexia. After being ever so slightly mistaken as to the intentions of the definitely-unfriendly elf Arakno – who had been put strait to the top of her, heroic, ‘to kill list’ – she was not particularly eager to take apparently helpful mortals, or undead, at their word.

“As I said, once I had ascertained you were no longer corrupted, there was no reason to kill you.”

Caprifexia snorted disbelievingly, earning a smile from the vampire for the first time.

“Yes, there is more,” he said, standing and turning dramatically to look out his window at the giant silver moon. “The Eldrazi are the greatest threat in the multiverse. There are other beings that can destroy Planes, but none that I know of, anymore at least, that can also move between them. I have spent hundreds of years reinforcing my home against them, but I am painfully aware that my defences are not foolproof.

“Long ago I laboured with two other Planeswalkers to seal away three Eldrazi manifestations. We succeeded, but we could not destroy, only trap them – and even then, only for a time. One day they will break free. I have searched for a more permanent method of destroying or rendering them inert. Century upon century, and yet I have found _nothing_.”

“You, however, represent something _new_. You can not only move physically and consciously through the Blind Eternities – interesting enough to warrant my interest by itself – but if you can wield the Eldrazi’s own power, then perhaps you are the key I have been searching for. It is in my interests to see you do not die prematurely, and there is seldom a surer reason to trust someone than because it is in their interests to help you. Think of my aid as an… _investment_-”

“A what?” said Caprifexia.

“An investment-”

“Is that something like in-sor-ance?” she said. “A mortal money thing? I don’t need that. I am a dragon.”

“No you ridiculous little…” he said angrily, before sighing and moving to one of the bookshelves that ringed the room. Apparently he was getting better at containing his irrational bouts of anger. Commendable, for such a limited being. “A metaphor; it does not matter.”

He spent a few minutes deliberating and taking down volumes, before bringing the pile over to her table. She flapped back away, still not entirely at ease with him as he set down the stack, but drew closer again as she started to examine the books. Even a quick gaze at the titles on the spines told her that they had been gathered from different planes, and the thought of so much _new _magical knowledge almost made her salivate.

“These will teach you the basics of bonding with land magic, and about the different types of mana,” he said, sifting through the books.

“And this energy will work with the spells I already know?” she said, hesitantly sliding off the table and taking her humanoid form, which was more suited to reading books made for mortals.

“Some, depending on what your actual affinity, or affinities are,” he said, cocking his head to one side as he looked her over. “Your transformation spell is interesting magic – it is not immediately apparent, even to me, that you are not really an elf.”

“Draconic magic is subtle, and far beyond your pathetic mortal flailing,” she said, smoothing down her dark hair primly.

“I assume that is why you still have horns and glowing eyes?” he said with a chuckle.

“I would like to have seen you do better with fourteen months of magical instruction!” she said, smoke pouring from her nostrils in outrage. She had preferred him angry, rather than snarky. She got that enough from her ever impudent friend.

The vampire’s lips quirked, but luckily for him, he didn’t dare argue with her further.

“More general spells, such as teleportation, shielding, and arteficing are possible with all forms of magic – although the spells may need to be heavily modified from what you know, or re-learnt entirely, and blue is normally the type most suited to those magics.”

Caprifexia decided not to tell him that she didn’t, _yet_, know how to teleport. It would only make him feel superior. Completely baselessly of course, but it still wasn’t a good idea to nurture those sort of feelings in non-dragons, they’d only end up getting disappointed after all.

“And how will I know what my ‘affinities’ are?” she asked.

“You will have to discover that for yourself, no one can do it for you. Although I would suggest starting with red. Most dragon’s personalities lend themselves to that mana – and you certainly seem… _sufficiently dragon-like_ to be a red wizard to me.”

She preened at the compliment, glad that she still seemed like a proper dragon after so much time away from her own people. Some part of her had been worried that she’d been going soft after spending so much time around emotional mortals. It was good to know that she was still as flawless and imperious as ever.

“So how does one tap this power?” she asked, sifting through the books.

“There are a series of meditative exercises to master, some theory to understand, which is why I have given you the books, and then you must go to a place and become familiar with it. To begin with bonding to even a single area, assuming you are even the right temperament to tap it, could potentially take you months.”

“And you are offering to teach me? This _‘in-vest-ment?’_”

“No,” he said. “I am not a teacher, and I have business elsewhere. And I will want my books back, _in good condition._ If you wanted direct instruction, there are a few colleges you could also attend on various planes, but it is not a simple matter to give directions in the multiverse – particularly since we experience it so fundamentally differently.”

“I very much doubt that a bunch of mortals would have much to teach me. And besides, I have heroic duties on Nirn. I have to slay all the proto-drakes and stop the world ending. Or something like that – Einar’s explanations are very boring. Regardless, it would clearly fall apart without my constant vigilance, and it shouldn’t be too difficult for a being of my awesome power to master this trifle.”

The vampire seemed about to ask a question, before he shrugged and moved towards the door, taking down a long black coat from a peg and throwing it over his shoulders.

“Put those in a bag,” he said, gesturing to the stack of books as he belted a powerful feeling sword to his waist. “I need to go, and I’m not leaving you alone in my workshop.”

“What about Einar?” said Caprifexia, looking back at her friend, who was still deeply asleep and looked to be snoring noisily behind the quiet ward. She needed to replicate – and improve, obviously – that spell. Einar’s nasal noises had almost pushed her to mortalcide on more than one occasion.

“I trust that Einar, _and the khajiite,_ know better than to go ‘fixing’ things – and have left them a note detailing why exactly it is a bad idea to try and steal anything from this room. _You, _however, might wreck years of labour out of sheer pique or bloody mindedness. Your friends can come and find you in a more… _child friendly_ area of the manor when they wake.”


	10. A Glowing Disendorsement

Caprifexia was halfway through the _Book of Bonding_, which _obviously_ written by a mortal, when Einar made an appearance in the manor’s immense main library. 

She had been reluctantly permitted to use one of the desks by the grumpy Sorbet Melon before he had gone, although she was being watched by no less than three of his vampire lackeys, all under strict instruction to ‘restrain that menace if she starts wrecking things.’

The sun had risen hours beforehand, but the vaulted library was even more gloomy than when she had arrived. The vampires had enchanted their curtains to close by themselves, and no matter how she tugged and pulled and wrenched she couldn’t get them open again.

She had considered setting the blood red velvet ablaze, but her ghoulish ‘minders’ had already been glaring at her, and Sorbet, who she could grudginglyadmit had helped Einar, had requested she not set his ugly gothic home on fire so, in this one, small, tiny, insignificant, _specific_ instance, she thought that arson might not be the most heroic possibly course of action.

“Capri!” cried Einar. “You’re alright!”

“Of course,” she said, waving her hand absently and staying focused on her book. “I am a-”

She was cut off as Einar reached her, and in a move that definitely would have gotten him set on fire a few months earlier, picked her up in a hug.

“Unhand me mortal,” she said, perhaps not quite as forcefully as was really proper for dragon.

“Divines Capri, I was so worried. When you were shivering, and then you collapsed…”

“Yes, yes,” she said, patting him on the back lightly as she heroically indulged his simpering outburst. “I understand, you mortals are very emotional – but I am a dragon, we do not _hug_.”

“Of course,” he sniffed, setting her back down on the thick carpet and wiping his leaking eyes before putting his hands on her shoulders and squatting down slightly so that they were face to face. “You saved my life Capri.”

_“Again_,” she corrected. “What is this, the twelfth time?”

“Second or third actually, depending on how you count it.”

“I’m fairly certain it is more than that – what about at that prison?”

“Helgen? You pushed me toward a woman trying to cut my head off. That definitely doesn’t count as ‘saving my life,’” he said. “But never-mind, this time you could have _died_. It was the most heroic thing you have ever done.”

“I wasn’t in any danger,” she scoffed.

“The one who saved us, a vampire of all things-”

“Yes, I spoke to him,” she nodded. “‘Sorbet Melon.’”

“His name_ is not_‘Sorbet Melon,’” said Einar. “Not only are you completely wrong, it would be an unbelievably massive linguistic coincidence for his name to be a dessert in Imperial.”

“I thought it was a strange name myself, especially since he can apparently speak your horrible sounding language; but, since I’m a hero, I didn’t say anything because didn’t want to seem culturally insensitive. Maybe all the bloodsuckers on…”

“Innistrad,” supplied Einar.

“-sure, are named after desserts in Imperial?” continued Caprifexia. “Did you think of that, hmm? I think it says a lot about you and your still omnipresent bigotry, usually directed towards dragons, that you can’t accept that some people, usually mortals, just have terrible names.”

“… _anyway_, he told me that you were very, very close to dead when he healed you,” said Einar. “He said that the only reason you were alive was because, as you’d put it, ‘you’re a dragon.’”

“I’m glad you’re finally starting to understand basic concepts.”

“So are you feeling OK?” said Einar.

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?” he said sceptically. “Not just pretending to be fine because you think dragon’s shouldn’t admit to being hurt? It’s OK, you can tell me.”

"I’m fine!”

“Well… good,” said Einar. “Where is our host then?”

“He said he had ‘business elsewhere’ and that I wasn’t allowed to stay in the workshop because I might accidentally improve one of his badly designed artefacts. He also told me to stay in the manor, since my awesome power would be too devastating to the local flora and fauna if I were to venture beyond the grounds.”

“Uh huh, I bet that’s exactly what he said,” said Einar,. “What are you reading? And… he did say you could read his stuff? Right?”

“He picked out some books on magic that he said I could borrow. Apparently as a ‘Planeswalker’ I am even mightier than a regular dragon – difficult as that might be for you to comprehend.”

“So long as you’re not _stealing _from him,” said Einar. “This guy knows where Nirn is and can move through the Void like you. And he’s an absurdlypowerful wizard. He is _not _someone we want to annoy – OK?”

“Pah, he’s just an unusually animate corpse-”

“-who can snap his fingers and turn over a dozen other vampires to dust. _I__nstantly_.”

“What? When did this happen? Are you sure? That doesn’t sound plausible,” said Caprifexia. “You don’t know much about magic, and are just, in general, usually wrong.”

“Yes I’m sure. It was when you _collapsed.”_

“Dragons do not ‘collapse’ – I simply did not think those feeble undead worth my time, and trusted you to deal with them.”

Einar put his palms to his face and sighed. “Whatever,” he said. “Just don’t go pissing him off, OK? He seems like the kind who wouldn’t blink at killing us if we imposed too much upon his good graces. I’m not even sure why he’s so interested in you.”

“Perhaps because he recognises greatness when he sees it.”

Einar looked, for some reason, very unconvinced.

“I suppose it would be useful cultivating lackeys-” she continued, tapping her lip speculatively.

“-allies, you’re a hero, remember-”

“-ah yes, ‘allies.’ Even an undead, if they have a library like this,” she said, gesturing to the expansive book filled room.

She could quite happily spend years in a place like this. Books on magic were one of her favourite things. Along with napping. And fish.

But she did realise that they needed to return to Nirn and deal with the proto-drakes. For one thing, Einar would definitely not shut up about it if they didn’t.

“We should probably wake up the cat,” she said, closing the book and stuffing it into a bag with the others. “We should be going, we need to visit the Neckbeards-”

“Greybeards. And his name is _J’zargo_,” said Einar firmly. “You _can’t _call him a cat Capri.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s _super racist_,” he said. “We’ve been through this.”

“But he _is_-”

“Capri, a _hero _wouldn’t call a khajiite a cat – OK?”

“Well… OK,” she said with a sniff. “That seems pretty arbitrary though. You’re lucky I’m such a tolerant and understanding dragon.”

*********

“So she is really a dragon?” said J’zargo, who was a ‘khajiite,’ not a cat – apparently – as they made their way back along the twisting and meandering bridges of the Void, or ‘Blind Eternities’ as the frozen fruit loving vampire had called it. All around them shadows twisted and moved, as if alive, the light from the star-like orbs that lead to worlds contorting and bending under the mad illogic of the Void’s ever shifting dimensions.

“From another world – not a child of Akatosh,” said Einar, who had taken it upon himself to ‘fill in’ Caprifexia’s perfectly adequate and concise explanation of the situation. “And a baby one at that.”

“Are you sure she is not just delusional?” said J’zargo.

“Listen here you small minded feline-”

“I’m sure,” said Einar, cutting her off. Rudely.

“And all her people have this power?” he said, gesturing to the realm which, had he seen it as it really were, would have shattered his feeble cat-_like_ mind.

“No, that’s just her it seems,” said Einar as they reached the platform and star-like orb that led to the dead, desert that had been stripped bare by the Void. “The Vampire who healed you could do it too. Although he said he couldn’t take people with him – that’s also a Capri speciality apparently.”

J’zargo was about to voice yet another tedious question when Caprifexia caught a flicker of movement and a hint of light in her peripheral vision.

“Einar, out, _now__!”_ she barked as she whirred around, her heart setting up a staccato in her chest as she gazed accross the abyss to another, more developed platform where she had spotted the movement.

J’zargo began to make some protesting noises, but Einar, for once, followed her command instantly, grabbing the khajiite’s arm and dragging the stroppy moggy through a portal to the ruinous plane.

Caprifexia took a few steps toward the orb of light, but didn’t immediately follow her friend and the khajiite.

With Einar gone she didn’t have to worry about protecting his fragile mortal mind, which meant that she had an opportunity to gather some more information on what Sorbet had described as the ‘most dangerous beings in the multiverse.’ The Old God had moved reasonably slowly the last time she had encountered one, and the Whispers would give her forewarning. At least, that was her – brilliant – working theory.

Strangely though, she heard no Whispers, and after almost a minute of fruitless peering into the gloom was about to follow Einar when she saw the movement again.

It was no longer on the platform opposite, and instead had travelled up one of the twisting bridges further away from her. Seeing any great distance was pretty difficult in the Void, but whatever it was glowed a bright gold, and seemed to have a vaguely humanoid outline.

She watched for a few more minutes, as it wended its way along the pathways between worlds, until it faded out of view entirely amidst the churning mist, patterns of light, and contorting dimensions.

_ **Ẇ̷̛̼e̴̛͎͂̉͒̌̋̏̎̚͝͝ ̷̢̛͕͍̞͔̍͆͛̊͐̎f̷̢͇͍̖̺̫̥̗̀ę̶̡̛͍̥̞̱̠̃̄̅͆͜ę̵̡̱͈͖͎͆͋̑̂͆l̸̪͎̲̩̻͖͓̇͋̏͝ ̸̻̻̪̲̻̘̳͍̮̬͓͂̅͛̅̒̈͝ẏ̷͚̰̠̅̅̈́̐ô̸̳̱̖̥͓̥ư̴̢̨͓͈̗͙̜͗̅̊͐͠͝.̶̧̪͙͍͖͉͍̌̿̑̆̈͒̈́.̷̳͚̦͋̈́̃̒̑̄̈́͝.̸̨̡̙̙̙̪͓̅̚ͅ ̸̧̯͚̞͖̺̪̦͙̉͌ͅ** _

Caprifexia’s eyes widened, and her head snapped around as she began to feel the familiar stifling touch of the Old Ones descend upon her mind, like a wedge behind her eyes. In the opposite direction of the golden figure, and moving faster than she had remembered, was the formless, writhing mist of an Old God, or ‘Eldrazi’ as Sorbet had called them. 

_ **Y̸̨̮͇̩̐̋̀ȯ̷͔͉͔̜͌̆̍u̶̢̱̘͌̏̒̈́͋̃̽̚̕͝ ̶̨̛̠̥̜̗̙̗̰͈̯̃̅́̒͒͗͐͜ờ̸̧͔̐̇̎͋͆ͅñ̷͖͌͌͌c̴̛̮̘̤͚̮̗͉̗̬̺̼͒̎̈͛̏e̶̯̤̖̻̟̝̅̍̍̅̚ ̸̢̨͕̝̘͙̺̹͍͌̑͂͜k̸̡͎͖͕̘̙͚͂̒̔̉̐͊̚ṅ̵̢͔̤̱̘͚͔̪̣̙̔͠e̷̡̱̲̟̩̖͇̙̘̥̪͑̽͛̔́͑͑̒̒ẘ̶͓͎͔̳͌̅̿̓̊͆̓͆̚͝ ̸̧̢̣̭͉̖̗̗̖̃̄̆͆̈́͒͑͗͘͘͝ụ̴̔͛s̷̨̞̼̳̥͈̟̦͗.̸̠̹͍̪͎͕̗͎̝͍̈́̀͑̑̆̄͋̏͝.̷̨̜̼̥̀͗̏́͒.̴̡̝͉̭̉̾́̈́͌͠** _

Like before she could see flashes of lightning within its form, and the occasional hint of what might have been an eye, and, now that she was looking closer, the occasional sinewy tentacle or maw full of twisted teeth. It was disconcerting to look at for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, and it made her mind itch. 

But she was a dragon, and pushed through the discomfort, focusing on trying to observe anything potentially useful. She was a hero after all, the greatest one in the multiverse even. If the Old Gods were as big a threat as Sorbet had indicated, then it was her responsibility to uncover their secrets.

_ **Ļ̴̟̩̪̰͓̓͌ḛ̴̯̲̳̾̈́̈́͒̈́̾̅t̵̢̼̳ ̵̥̹͙̙͔̥̖̭̘̌̊̄̄̍͒͊̄̕͜͠ͅu̶͙̠͉̦͈̫͓͖̯̻̣̿̍͘͠s̶̳̤͍͆͛͗͂̒̒̌͋͛̀͝ ̴̡̝̳͕̥̺̟̈́̈́̆̈́̕͜͝b̷̭̼̅͊a̶̧̹͍͓̲̰͋͌͆͌̅̈́̌c̸̡̠̭͙̙̳̖̆̆̒͊̅͘k̴̟͖̤̖͐͋̾͑̐͠ ̷̢̢̤͔̲̪̞̘̲̎̒̈́̎͂̋͌̕i̷̢̻͕̭͇̼̲̺̘̝̣̤̇͗̏̊̀̈́͑̋͊̚͠͝n̷̡͖̯̲͈̤̱͙͔̈̾̅͆̑̂͑̓̑̎͋̾ͅͅ,̷̫͚̤͕̉̅̈͂̄̄͝ͅ ̴̣͙̟͙̼̞̲͉͖͗͂͛͆͂̈́̈́̌̂̎͝͝ļ̷̡̬̯̻͇̫̻̲̥̩͓͉̏̄̌̈́̍́̃̚e̶̢̟̣̦͎̙͎͓͑͂͘ͅt̸̨͓̥̪̗̺͎̠̟̔͗́ͅ ̷̛̜̗͇̭̣̪̭̫͖͔̜͚̄̎̊̆̽̽̕͠ų̴̞̮̻͓̯̹̺͔̥͔̮̖͌͝š̸̨̧͎̬̳͇̦͚̳̺͍̠̺̉̋̂̔͐̕͝͝ ̵̼̼̞̈̃͆͗̕b̴̢̯̩̰̼̙̩͈͖̮̎͐͒͐̓͌͌̕̚͜ą̵̹̮̜̰͈̖̩̤͎̼̳͗͂͌̍́͒́͆̏c̶̨̧̞͕͓̦͓͙͕̽͛̓̍̽̌͘̚͜ͅͅk̷̹̣͎̹̔͑̊͆́͐̍͆ ̴̢̙͓͚͔̤̟̂̾̄̏̅͆͘i̶̩͓̲͙͍̪̞̞̫̍̊̈̾͝ņ̴̨̻̦̤̲͓̘͉̮͔̰̓!̸̲͓̜̰̹̜̮͋̔͐̋͛͋̃͗͌̈́͘͝͝** _

Still, it was closing rather fast, and starting to cause a nasty headache. No. On second thought, Sorbet’s idea of investigating them had definitely been a bad one.

And obviously there was nothing more to be learned, she thought as the itch in her mind grew more pronounced and she stepped toward the star that led to the desertous plane. 

She was just raising her hand to escape from the hideous creature when she stopped, cocking her head to one side as she saw that her skin had begun to faintly glow the same gold as the distant figure she had seen moments beforehand.

_ **W̷̢̦̫̤̞̗̫̞̬͎̞̬̮̼̞̮̆̒̂͋̃̀̿͆̎̽̔̕͝ȩ̷̡̧͉̩̲̘̙̦̝͈͍̳̹̩̩͖͉̀̍̾̍̉͌̍ ̵̢̛̥͕̆͌̍̎̌̇̋̈́̐̓̅̀̚͝w̵̧̮̘̯͔̖̪̦̳̻̦͐̇̓̋̿̚ͅi̶̳̣̹͍̊̅͑̓̐̅͒̈́̃̋̿̋̍̆̈́͘͝l̵̢̧̡̺̘̘͓̞̦͎̞͕̮̝̜̝̳̰̲̤̔̀̽͛̌͗̚͠l̵̖͙̤͎͕̲̯͉̥̘̓͑̏̔̿̓̎̿̎͆̍̌̉̾͑̕ ̴̥̪̝̰̀̓̎̓̓̈́͒͗́̎͑͒̂̎̕͝͠c̸̨̡̨̨̞̥͕̹̼̠͚̲̦̟̟̆̌̾̏̐͌̈̓̆̈́̇̑̈̓̉͘͜͠͝ͅo̷̧͓̗̹̭͇̖̭̜̺̠̤͆̑͛̽̿͋̇̍̓̌̄͗̏̒̚̚n̵̨̨̧̼͓̞͇̙̺̊͂͊̽̒̉͋̈́́͗̀̎̑͗s̶̯̰̫̞̖͕̜̪̘̃̑͋̈́̾͗̑̄͋͜͠͠ų̶̝͖̫̺̪̿̋͜ͅm̸̧̡̺̺̭̬̳͕̤̣̗̖͍̳͔̓̐̐͐̓͋̆̾̓̾̈́̔̏̄̚͜͝͠͝e̵̡̛̥̞̟̤͓̮͚͍̙̰̣̬̰̺̪̳͂̈́̈́̐͜͜͠ ̸̧̨̨̪̼̼̟̝̖̩͇̙͚͛͆͆̏̈́͑ͅy̸̻͓̮̪̞̟̅͗̅͐̋̓̾̿̿͂̍͆̈̈͝͝͝o̵̡̰̘͈͈̟̳̗̲͚̝͕̻͌̚ǚ̷̧̠̥͖̳͍̮͚̦̲̍̈́̈́̊̈́͌̉͗̉̑̚.̸̫͍̼̰̹̲̳̠͖̕͜.̶̧͉͎͓̫̲̟̫͍͈͈̩̪̞̟̇̀̒̋͑̇̎̍́̓̐͘̕͝͝.̸̢̨̨̢̞̞͖̬͍̒͋̀̄̐̍̊͂̿͐̌̈́̈̏̏̔̉͂͝͝ͅ** _

“Huh,” she said, peering at the strange phenomenon. She wasn’t sure if she had simply never noticed it before – a possibility since the Void seemed to be, to some degree at least, shaped by her perception and expectation – or if it was the proximity of the Old God that had activated it.

Now that she had seen it, however, she could feel the magic beginning deep inside her, in the same place that the ‘tug’ came from whenever she Planeswalked.

_ **Ÿ̷̲̙̽̔̋̏̾̅͠ͅo̴̡̪̦̲̱̖͇͎̖̭̣͙̭̰̦̟̲͎̝̥̻̞̪̊̈͂̂͂̓͗̈́͛̅̏̆̈̏͘͜͠u̸̡̼̫͎̟͚̮͚̩͈̳̬͙̭̣͍̖͔̭̥͚̼̜̥͚̔͂̓̈̑̏̀̋̐̆͝ͅ ̵͎̍̃̊̔̌w̷̹͚̲͎̟̤̞͔̖̬̤͕͓͕̰͙̩͕͎̽̾ͅȋ̴̥͙̩͎̥̇̉ͅl̴̩̺̘͆͗̿l̷̩̎̾̿̌̋̏͂̾̌̄̃͛̒̑̔̌̓̿͐͑͌̽̕͠͝ ̵̨̛͓͚͕͙̤͙͓̭̳̥̱͌͊̋̈́̓̈̾͂̏̐̍̏̇͌͒̋̕͜͜ń̵̡͙͙̖̜̍̍̃̀̒͂͌̇̆͆̕o̷̥̦̺͇̘̫̗͒̄̽̀̈̚̕͝t̸̫͈̘͇͇̬̭̼̘̲̅͛̓̐̇̂͐̌̿̏̀̈́͂͑̾̄͊͆̚͝͠ ̶̧̢͇̜͖̯̰̘̮̬͚͙̜͔͉̬̥̤̟͌̏̂̾̇̑̓̓ȩ̶͇͇͖͔̔̎̒s̵̞̝̘̻͓̰̍̓̓̈͐̏̔̄̀͌͊͆̈́̌̿͂̄̀̋͠ç̵̨̡͓͓̪̜̬̺̖̤͎̹͎̳̳̣̫̈́̈́̀̋̄̓͗͊ͅą̷̧̡̢̢̡̞̲̗̗̪̱̗̩̫̦̪̮̞̩̫̣͗̅̐̃̍̏̓̾͊̆̾͗̑̒̄͊̈́̚͜͝͠ͅp̷̢̡̡̗͔̪͓̺͚̺̣̱̺͚̿̽̏̅̎͒̊̏͐̄̌̑̈́͒̓̾̐͑̂̑̐͋̐̌̕͜e̸̡̡̮͍͙̱̹͈̟͍̬̲̩̝͔̦͖̦̬̙̞̽̓͊̌̌͌͑͋̆̈́ ̵̹̉͛u̸̗̯͍̻͂̿̀̕͜ͅs̷̢̛͈̦̭̹̤̫̟̺̖̲͙̤͍͈͉̺̆͆̄̊̿͋͒̏̍̌̾̿̕̚͘͠͠.̴̧̛̝́̈́̽̒̐̈́͆̾̃̀̎͌͐̅͒̀̎̉͗͘͠͠.̶̨̛̘̟͓͎̻̥̥̠̆́͗̓͑͝.̶̙͕̰̲̤̲̮̬͇̓́̾̇̐̃̈́̒͘͜͜͜** _

Caprifexia would have liked to examine it more, but the Old God was getting close, and with her best derisive draconic sniff, that sounded nothing like a yelp, she turned her nose up to the Old God and stepped leisurely out of the Void onto the dead, desertous plane.

“For Akatosh’s sake!” yelled Einar as soon as she had crossed the threshold and the portal closed behind her. 

Her headache abated slightly as the Old God’s hold over snapped, but it didn’t disappear entirely, and certainly wasn’t helped by Einar’s very loud whinging.

“_Don’t do that!”_ continued Einar, his voice angrier than she had heard it since she’d dispensed Just-this to the proto-drake-elf, or ‘Dovahkiin’ as he insisted on calling them.

They had arrived in the ruins of a city wrought mainly from sandstone. Most of the structures were still standing, although in places what looked like waves of transformative magic had rolled through the city, shifting and breaking and changing the sandstone from elegant curves into harsh geometric pylons and lines.

In places the sandstone had also been transmuted into a kind of green-purple crystal, which here and there had broken off entirely and now floated eerily in the air, with no sensible magic or spell of any kind keeping them afloat. The shadows they cast were a bit odd as well, and seemed to twist and turn at unexpected angles. If Caprifexia wasn’t _sure_ that the Old God was gone, she might have thought herself still in the Void.

It was dawn, and there was still a chill in the air. In the various alcoves and undercover areas shielded from the direct sunlight lay hundreds of desiccated reptilian corpses like the ones that Caprifexia and Einar had found in a cave on their first visit to the world. Unlike the bodies they had found in the cave, however, several of these corpses had been warped and twisted in a similar manner to the buildings, and here and there dull, dry scales transitioned into harsh geometric crystal.

“Do what?” she said distractedly, wiping some of the ichor of her boots onto a nearby piece of hexagonal masonry and thinking over what she had just learned. 

Was what she had felt her ‘Spark?’ Sorbet had said that it was what made a Planeswalker a Planeswalker. Was that why it had activated near the Old God? Was it what had purged the Whispers from her mind in the first place? Was it some sort of ‘anti-Void’ energy?

“Tell us to get out of the Void and then don’t follow us out for ten aedra-damned minutes!”’ said Einar, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her distractingly.

“I was doing research,” she said, her voice taking on the same angry tone as his. “And stop that, I am a dragon, I will not be shaken!”

“_Research!?” _he all but screamed into her face.

“There was some kind of golden figure moving in the distance, and then an Old God-”

“An Old God!? How can you be so blasé about those mind shattering abominations?” said Einar, shaking her more. “What is wrongwith you!?”

“My mind is not so fragile as yours,” she said, baring her slightly-too-pointy to be elven teeth at him. “And you _will _stop shaking me!”

“_Children _should not be doing ‘research’ onto eldritch horrors! Did _Soren-”_

“_Who?”_

_  
_“The fucking vampire!” yelled Einar, who had worked himself into a real state. “Did _he _put you up to this?”

“I am a whelpling; not a child!” she said testily, shoving him back, her draconic strength making him stumble several steps. “And _S__orbet_ and I discussed the Old Gods, but I am not the servant of anything, least of all a ghoul like him. I was curious, and if you stop_ mothering_ me and shut up long enough to listen I might tell you what I have found with my formidable intellect, you ridiculous overbearing mortal!”

“_Fine,”_ he said through gritted teeth, trying to reign in his mortal proclivity to nonsense before speaking in a more proper tone. “What did you find?”

“I can glow,” she said, holding up her hand and drawing on the power again. Golden light burst from her skin, dancing along her finger tips.

Einar – despite his inability to glow – seemed unimpressed. “You’re a wizard, of _course _you can glow!”

“No you fool-” she snarled, smoke billowing from her mortal form’s nostrils as she tried to think of an _even simpler_ a way put things. Then she changed her mind. No. If Einar didn’t want to take her seriously, she wouldn’t take him even a little bit seriously. “You know what? I don’t have to explain myself to a mortal. Go and play in the dirt, or whatever it is you do when I’m not around.”

Einar balled his hands into fists, and was probably about to say something else completely out of line when J’zargo interrupted them.

“J’zargo is not entirely convinced that this is a ‘safe place,’” said the khajiite, gesturing to the dead reptiles.

“Dead mortals –_ what a surpris_e,” said Caprifexia

“What did this is long gone according to Capri,” said Einar.

“And how long must we stay here?” asked J’zargo.

“Capri?” asked Einar.

“Oh, so now my vast understanding is to be drawn on?” she growled. “My wisdom valued and not mocked? I am not merely a ‘disobedient child?’”

“What are you talking about?”

“A few hours,” she snapped, moving off. “I’m going to look around.”

“Wait, hold on Capri, we shouldn’t split up,” said Einar, rushing to catch up with her and grabbing her by the shoulder again.

“I told you to stop mortal-handling me!” she snarled, a hint of flame leaping from her mouth as she shoved him away again, harder this time, sending him tumbling onto his rear. “Meet me back here in two hours. Or don’t. Whatever.”

She transformed and flapped into the air.

“Hey, no Capri, wait! Capri!” he called out as she rose and banked away from him.

She ignored him, accelerating and streaking off deeper into the city. 

Damn Einar. In his eyes she could never do anything right. She got chastised for not being interested enough in certain boring things, like what exactly a ‘proto-drake-born’ was, but then when she tried to actually investigate real threats, like the Old Gods, she got told off! It wasn’t fair at all!

“Irritating mortal,” she hissed as she flapped over a canal with crystal clear water and into what seemed to be some kind of temple district. There the thoroughfare was made of polished and finely cut interlocking pieces of marble, and on either side were huge buildings, long wilted gardens, and statues that dominated the skyline.

She came to a stop outside the first large building, which seemed to be dedicated to a SABIGISMF that resembled one of the local reptilian humanoids with a beetle for a head. Compared to the rather simple buildings where they had arrived, the temple was ornately carved and constructed from marble that still gleamed purple and gold in the morning light. Sections of it had, however, been hit by the wave of warping magic, and the lower half of the statue had been twisted into some kind of eerie abstract representation of itself.

Caprifexia thought the ‘God’ itself looked absurd, and the idea that a being that looked like one of the locals but also had an insectoid head was somehow a representation of ‘divinity’ was ridiculous even by the incredibly low standards of mortalkind.

“Gullible mortal fools,” she said, flicking her talons in a fit of pique. “_Relampus_.”

A lightning bolt burst from her claws a moment later, crashing into the marble and sending the silly beetle head smashing to the ground in a shower of masonry. Caprifexia felt a brief moment of catharsis, before it faded back into a confusing fury.

She moved onward through the plaza, blasting another of the statues, this one of a reptilian with a fish head of all things, as she went. It didn’t help her anger – anger she wasn’t entirely sure why she had. Einar had been dismissive towards her before – so why was she suddenly so bothered by it? 

She thought she had been getting better at indulging mortals, which was a pretty core part of being a hero as she understood it. 

Was it the khajiite? She felt pretty ambivalent towards the feline wizard, it was true. But he wasn’t a villain, so didn’t warrant summary Just-a-fireball to the face. More than that even, she could somewhat begrudgingly admit that he had helped them against the ghouls. That made him, intellectually, an ally. Didn’t it?

Why then did she still feel an increasing dislike towards him all the same? It was ridiculous, a random mortal shouldn’t have been able to get under her scales like that.

She reflected upon their last interaction, trying to locate the thing that had annoyed her as she flapped by two more temples, reducing their large statues to rubble as she went.

She approached the last of the five temple-like structures, no closer to any kind of answer, and was just about to obliterate the tall statue of a winged humanoid woman when she paused.

Something stirred in her memory from the last time she had been on the plane, pushing the anger to the back of her mind for the moment as she tried to recall exactly what the link was.

It took her draconic mind only a moment to locate the memory and bring it to the fore in vivid detail. The carving of a similar figure above the maddened rambling’s of one of this world’s unfortunate mortals floated into her mind’s eye, the words that had been carved beneath clear and distinct: ‘_t__he angles do not add up, the circle does not close.’_

_Strange,_ she thought, lowering her claws and releasing the magic she had gathered. _Why would a race of reptiles worship an apelike figure with wings? __Usually mortals w__ent__ for things that resemble__d__ themselves, __didn’t they?_

On a whim she moved up the temple’s steps, passing under stonework that couldn’t have been more than a decade or two old and into the main chapel itself, and which was mostly intact.

Inside were another five statues of the winged woman, looking down from equidistant points around the circular room. At the centre stood a withered reptilian figure who, unlike all the other corpses she had seen both in the city and the cave, had a look of pure joy frozen on the half of his face that hadn’t been twisted into geometric crystal.

Arrayed around him on all sides on curving pews were dozens and dozens more dead reptiles. A few, mainly those towards the front, bore looks of similar bliss as what she assumed was the head priest, but most looked frightened. Caprifexia somehow found the former even more disquieting than the latter. The idea that anyone, even a mortal, would willingly embrace the total destruction of self was… perverse. Sick.

Capri was about to turn and leave in disgust, when she spied an open book on the central altar. She doubted that it would have any interesting spells in it, but sometimes religions did practice some kind of magic as an attempt to ‘connect’ with their so-called Gods, so she moved over and opened it.

The text, although somewhat faded on the papyrus, was easily legible thanks to her gift of tongues, and was the same as what she had read in the cave.

The book was titled _The Word of Mirael_ – the apparent name of the mammalian SABIGISMF with wings whose statues looked down on her. It was fairly standard religious waffle, although the object of worship stood out to her as strange. Rather than the sun, or war, or weather, or fertility, the object of worship of this particular cult was what the book called the ‘Great Absence.’

“‘_Great Absence,’”_ she muttered, returning to the first page and tapping the word. Another way of saying ‘nothing.’ Another way of saying ‘Void.’

Although she’d never completed ‘Theological Manipulation 101’ back at Blackrock Spire, she was fairly certain that the worship of nothingness as a concept wasn’t a particularly standard mortal foible. In fact, as far as she could remember, the only Azerothian example was the Twilight Hammer. But they had been pawns of her people, and certainly not integrated into wider mortal society enough to have temples in cities.

She turned her attention back to the book, her eyes flying over the pages as she absorbed the convoluted rambling, and slowly a picture of the religion began to take shape in her mind.

The worship of the so-called Goddess ‘Mirael’ had been a relatively recent phenomenon on this plane, which was called ‘Zarrak’ by the locals. Although it was difficult to work out exactly what the dates mentioned in the text were relative to the present, the worship of five other SABIGISMFs had already been well established when ‘Mirael’ had suddenly arrived on the scene and declared herself ‘greatest of the Gods.’

There had been a brief but bloody sounding war, during which Mirael slew the previous head of the lizard people’s pantheon, and after which she had been more or less accepted into the local’s system of belief, fundamentally altering the nature of their psuedo-cosmology.

Rather than the previous ‘cycle’ embodied by the previous head ‘God,’ who had been associated with the Sun, after the rise of Mirael the religion had come to centre around a promised event called the ‘Unity’ – when it was said that Mirael would facilitate a ‘transcendence’ for the Zarrakians, removing the ‘suffering that was existence’ by ushering in ‘Bliss.’ 

‘Bliss,’ or ‘Oblivion;’ the word had a double meaning in the Zarrakian language.

Caprifexia turned, looking up at reptilian priest with a look of joy on her face, a few things clicking into place in her labyrinthine mind.

The priest hadn’t been afraid on the world’s destruction. He had somehow knownwhat was coming. Known, and _wanted_ it.

But the winged woman ‘goddess?’ Once again, that stuck out as strange.

There was no indication, from what she had seen, of any ape-like beings on this world. Of any mammal at all, now that she thought of it. But if that was the case, then where had the impetus for an ape-like Goddess’ form come from? Why not a lizard-person with wings? Was she an Old God? 

As far as Caprifexia knew, and she knew a lot, normally there were more tentacles, and they couldn’t actually physically take humanoid forms – the reality of life was too alien for them to do more than some twisted, fleshy approximation. And there wasn’t any mention of ‘blessed madness’ or anything else like the thought that had infested the Twilight Cult. No, whatever she was, this ‘Mirael’ wasn’t an Old God…

“There you are!” came the exasperated voice of Einar, breaking her chain of thought. “Divines Capri, I thought you’d left us!”

“I was reading,” she snapped, her anger at her supposed friend coming back to the fore. Why was Einar bothering her? Hadn’t she made it clear she didn’t want to have a look around with him?

Then she checked her internal clock, somewhat surprised that three and a half hours had already elapsed. Oh, she realised, that was probably why he sounded annoyed – mortals were very particular about time. Probably a side effect of a whole ‘dying from old age’ thing.

“About religion?” he said. “I thought you said it was all mortal nonsense.”

“It is,” she said. “But this religion worshipped the Void, it seemed somewhat interesting – considering what happened to this place.”

Einar came to a stop beside her, looking askance at the enraptured features of the head priest.

“Hey Capri, are we OK? You seem more prickly than usual. Which is saying something.”

“Fine.”

Einar raised an eyebrow. “I’m not as smart as you maybe, but I’m not a fool – something’s bothering you.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Yeah… I’m not going to do that,” he said. “Come on Capri, we’ve been through Oblivion and back together, your like my little sister – a really bratty one – you can tell me.”

“That’s the problem!” she snapped, locating the source of her anger as it flared at being called ‘bratty.’ “I’m nota child. Stop treating me like one!”

“Capri, you’re _two,_” he said gently, placing a hand on the gap in her spines where her shoulders met her neck.

“I am a dragon!” she said. “An immortal being of intellect and magic!”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “But you’re a very young one. This is about me getting angry at you for being in the Void longer than us, isn’t it? Capri, I was just worried about you, I thought you were dead.”

Caprifexia scowled at him.

“I’m sorry for shouting and shaking you OK? I know you’re not a normal kid – in a whole lot of ways you’re incredibly skilled, but in others you haven’t got any experience. But I’ll try to differentiate between those two situations better, OK? In return, maybe you can let me know what you’re planning before you do it?”

“You also laughed at me when I discovered something interesting,” she said sulkily.

“That you can glow?”

“No – not – argh!”

“OK, I’m clearly missing the significance of this,” he said. “Please, explain it in small words that my silly mortal mind can understand, oh mighty dragon.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you’re going to be reasonable, _for once_, I suppose I can enlighten you.”

“Very kind of you.”

“I know. Anyway, the movement I saw in the Void was a glowing gold humanoid figure, which I believe might have been another Planeswalker – although it was difficult to make out. Then, when the Old God started growing closer I noticed that I was also glowing – I don’t know if it was the proximity of the monstrous creature, or if my perception had somehow shifted.”

“What do you mean ‘your perception shifted?’” he asked.

“The Void seems to react to one’s understanding of it,” she said, before pausing, wanting to phase things carefully so he wouldn’t accidentally see what she did and be driven mad. “I… _see_ more than you do in there.”

“What-”

“If I explain, I will probably have to burn out more of your brain.”

“Oh, err, OK, no, please don’t tell me then,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll just trust you know what you’re talking about.”

“A habit that would serve you well. Anyway, I noticed, because I’m amazingly self-reflective and insightful, that this glow seems to emanate from the same place I feel a ‘tug’ when I open a portal. I believe it is my ‘Spark,’ what Sorbet Melon-”

“He isn’t called-” began Einar, before realising how wrong he was. “No, never-mind, what did ‘Sorbet Melon’ say?”

“He said the ‘Spark’ is what makes me even more incredible than a normal dragon; it is what makes me a ‘Planeswalker.’”

“So it’s not just a fancy glow?”

“No,” she said. “And I think I might be able to use it to avoid your… insect fetish when opening portals.”

“So I can stop carrying around a spider in a jar in my pocket?”

Caprifexia flapped away, smoking trailing from her nostrils as the furnace in her chest began to glow through her scales. _“You have _what_ in your pocket!?”_

“Err, no – I definitely don’t have a spider,” he said, covering a suspicious looking part of his coat. “Don’t you _dare_ set me on fire!”

Caprifexia glared at him, slowly letting the power in her chest fade and landing on the altar again.

“Well you’ll get a chance to find out if you’re right soon,” said Einar. “We need to get going – who knows how long it will take us to get to the Greybeards, and J’zargo needs to tell Winterhold what that Thalmor prick did.”

“Fine,” she said, closing the book. After a moment’s deliberation she transformed, took it and put it in her bag before resuming her draconic form. “I suppose we can go then.”

They trooped out of the temple, Caprifexia taking her position on Einar’s shoulder, a perch that was getting progressively harder and harder to find comfortable due to having put on several inches snout to tail in the last few months.

It took them almost half an hour to make it back to the concourse where they had arrived, and where an impatient looking khajiite was tapping his foot.

“We are ready, yes?” said J’zargo. “She is done having her tantrum?”

“Dragons do not have ‘tantrums!’” she corrected.

“J’zargo does not believe you.”

“J’zargo, play nice. OK Capri, do your thing,” said Einar.

Caprifexia flapped off his shoulder and closed her eyes, focusing on where she felt the tug and following it down to her core, where a blazing spark shone within her. Carefully she took hold of it with her mind and directed it outward, envisaging it cutting open a portal into the Void.

For a moment nothing happened, but then she felt a familiar tug, and when she opened her eyes there was a portal before her.

“Hah! I am the greatest Wizard in the multiverse!” she declared.

“Impossible – that is J’zargo,” said the arrogant, and totally delusional cat.

“Nice Capri,” said Einar, cutting her off before she could explain in detail to the cat why he was self-evidently wrong. “Come on, lets get going – we don’t want to have to put down on another plane again.”

Caprifexia’s form shifted as the others went through the Void, trailing after them as Einar consulted his map and began heading off towards Nirn, the fleshy, eye covered growths squelching under her boots.

“Hey Capri,” said Einar a few minutes later as they descended a particular rickety set of half-rotten planks and arrived at the entrance to the plane of Nirn.

“What?”

  
“Has Nirn always looked like… _that_?” he said, pointing to the star that led back to his home reality that was somehow had a large, deep gash cut into it. The cut spewed out multicoloured light, which bled out into the void in pulses that resembled a heartbeat.

She shrugged, placing her hand on the ball of swirling energy and opening a portal.

“Probably.”


	11. The Urban Avoidance Imperative

**Chapter 11 – The Urban Avoidance Imperative**

Einar and the cat coughed as they emerged from the Void into a thick cloud of caustic smoke.

Caprifexia, on the other hand, took a deep breath, closing her eyes and taking in a calming lungful the heady wood-scented vapour. In the distance she heard a scream, and overhead the faint thud of a large creature’s wings.

It reminded her a bit of home.

“_Capri!_” coughed Einar from somewhere in the smoke. _“Help!”_

“You’re such a whinger, it’s just a little smoke – _Respirante,”_ she said, pointing a finger in the direction her friend’s voice and conjuring a ball of clear air.

The ambient mana felt a bit odd, like it had been stretched too thin, but nonetheless a moment later she felt the spell connect and her friend stopped spluttering quite so badly. Well, it stopped him choking, his mortal splutterings would doubtless continue indefinitely.

J’zargo managed his own much less elegant spell a moment later, and she saw his outline straighten as she made her way to Einar, who had a hand on a stone wall.

“This is not Saarthal,” she said, peering at the stonework before looking upward. Although it was hard to see through the smoke, even for a dragon, she could tell that they were outside. There had been some ruins on the surface, and they had been decrepit – even by moral standards – but there had been snow, not mud on the ground.

“Soren-” began Einar.

“Who?”

“-_Sorbet _teleported us after saving us from the other vampires,” said Einar. “Damn, I hadn’t considered that – we could be anywhere.”

Overhead there was a roar, and they all paused for a moment.

“J’zargo thinks there may be a dragon,” said the khajiite.

“Of course I’m here-”

“He means a proto-drake,” said Einar, flattening himself against a wall. “Capri, maybe we should leave?”

“If I cannot see in this smoke, it certainly can’t,” she said, rolling her eyes and placing one hand on the wall to orient herself before heading down what seemed to be a street they had arrived on. “We should at least see where we are before indulging your mortal cowardice.”

Her hand ran over the reasonably smooth stonework for a few moments before coming to a far harsher and angular cut.

“Typical shoddy craftsmortalship…” she began, trailing off as she turned to look at what she had felt, seeing that rather than just a badly cut block the wall had instead been warped into familiar sharp geometric angles from one point to the next.

She cast a wide spectrum diagnostic spell, hissing as it confirmed what she had suspected.

Void Magic.

Lots and lots and lots of Void Magic.

She should have picked up on it, noticed the ridiculously high level of entropic mana all around her. Titans, there had barely been a drop in the ambient level of the energy between the Void itself and whatever this place was.

It was probably why the energy around her had felt so thin. And maybe, just maybe, Einar had been right that the rent he had noticed in the entrance-way to the Plane hadn’t been there when last they’d passed by; the tear that had been leaking the energy of this world out into the Void.

“Why has the small dragon stopped?” asked J’zargo from behind her.

“Someone has opened a Void aperture here!” she said. “Can’t you feel how the mana is all warped?”

“Err yeah,” said Einar. “You just did that Capri-”

“No, not me you insufferable-” she said, freezing as she heard a faint stomping sound. Something began to itch in the back of her mind, and beside her Einar rubbed his temple.

“Ugh, my head-”

“Hide!” she hissed, grabbing Einar and pulling him across into an archway partially blocked by the detritus of a smashed wagon. A moment later the cat followed them, hunching down and peering into the gloom.

As the stomping grew closer the itch in her mind grew more pronounced, and Caprifexia bit her lip as her skin began to glow golden, and what she had suspected was confirmed. It wasn’t an Old God, they couldn’t have manifested from such a relatively trivial wound in the skein of reality, but it was definitely one of their servants.

“My mind hurts,” whimpered Einar, closing his eyes and gripping his forehead.

On an impulse, which she had probably picked from spending to much time around sappy mortals, she grabbed his hand in some kind of insipid attempt to reassure him. Rather than just prop up his fragile emotions, however, there was an actual effect, and the golden glow spread from her hand and moved up and over his body, visibly relaxing him.

“What did you-”

“_Shush_!” she hissed, grabbing the cat’s paw and extending her Spark’s field of protection over the khajiite as well.

Not because she was _especially _concerned for his welfare, but because if the thing she could hear coming was what she thought it was, then she didn’t want it to have a telepathic foothold in the mind of anyone anywhere near her.

A moment later an enormous figure appeared in the smoke, from the direction of where they had arrived, or rather, the two fleshy legs and two tentacles dragging through the mud belonging to it did.

There hadn’t been many of the creatures in Blackwing Lair, since their presence alone tended to have a deleterious effect on the productivity of the mortal slaves, and the first affects of which had been felt by Einar, but there had been enough of them around for her to recognise one when she saw it.

A Faceless One.

Walking upright like an horrific caricature of a mortal, its body disappeared up into the smoke. In the place of arms and it had writhing purplish red fleshy tentacles that trailed along the ground, and rather than a face there was a hideous crown of more tentacles, several fang-filled mouths, and lolling tongues. Wherever it trod reality twisted and warped, and even as Caprifexia watched the cart they were hiding behind began to subtly shift and change, the wood taking on a kind of rough hexagonal pattern.

Like the wall she had just examined.

Like the buildings on bare, desertous world of Zarrack.

Caprifexia’s breath caught in her throat as the monster came to a stop, it’s tentacles twisting too and fro as it made a kind of snuffling sound as it searched the area. Searched for them. For her.

Of course, she thought, a being of the Void would have been able to sense her transit to and from it’s native realm. For an abomination like that her portal would have been the thaumic equivalent of summoning a thunderstorm – obvious, flashy, and impossible to ignore.

The fact that it hadn’t already found her, sensed her, however, seemed to confirm her brilliantly deduced theories about her Spark’s ability to ward off the powers of the Void. It was almost certainly the reason that the Old One’s hold on her had been broken in the first place, and why her incredible mind was even more resistant to their Whispers than a normal dragon.

Although, amazing as Caprifexia was, it didn’t seem her protection was full-proof, and slowly but surely the tentacles crept closer, padding and pawing at the ground, leaving behind twisted geometry and a slimy residue wherever they touched.

Carefully, taking care not to disturb the surrounding flow of mana too much, Caprifexia wove an illusion. It took a while, since she couldn’t use a mnemonic in case it heard, and she hadn’t practised extensively with the discipline, but she managed, keeping her focus even as the creature closed in on them, taking another earth shaking step and extending a tentacle toward the cart.

_Crash_.

The tentacles swivelled as the sound of something heavy and metal falling echoed from further down the road, followed by a high pitched Einar-like scream and the exaggerated sound of running footfalls.

The creature took the bait, it’s tentacles moving off in the direction of the noise as it’s tree-trunk like legs lumbered off.

“What the fuck was that?” hissed Einar as Caprifexia began to drag him and the cat off in the opposite direction. “Capri-”

“A Faceless One,” she said, the glow of her skin beginning to recede as the stomping faded into the distance. “A servant of the Old Ones.”

“What was it doing here?” asked J’zargo “And why did the small dragon not open a portal?”

“That was a creature of the Void,” she said. “They might not be able to easily cross into reality, but they can definitely move the other way. If I had Planeswalked it would have followed us – it almost certainly felt me when I arrived.”

“J’zargo asks again – what was it doing here?” said J’zargo. “J’zargo has never heard of these… ‘Void’ creatures before, and he is very wise and well read. And handsome.”

“I don’t know,” she said as another roar shook the sky. “But we need to get away from here. Even I can’t fight a Faceless that big, so you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“J’zargo is a mighty wizard-”

“No,” she said firmly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you foolish mortal. You will die if you attempt to fight them, and then Einar will never shut up about it. No. I forbid it.”

“J’zargo does not follow your orders-”

“-Einar, make the cat behave-”

“-he isn’t a cat-”

“-J’zargo is not a cat-”

“-whatever-”

“-J’zargo, she does have a point,” said Einar. “Capri does know a lot about the Void – her people used to be pretty much slaves to it.”

“J’zargo still thinks he would triumph.”

There was a bloodcurdling roar in the distance that cut off halfway through, followed by the sound of a ground-shaking implosion.

“Or… maybe he would not,” speculated the feline.

The smoke began to thin as they rushed down the road. Alongside them more and more buildings that had been twisted by the effects of whatever had brought the Faceless to the town, and in places a piece of particularly twisted and geometrified wood or stone had floated entirely free of the rest of the structure.

Then they turned a corner and emerged into open air, revealing a skyline of densely packed squat stone buildings aflame within tall curtain walls. Beyond the fortifications were towering jagged mountain peaks, their sides pure-white with heavy snow.

It took a few moments for Caprifexia to place where she had seen their shapes before, but then she recognised them as mountains and ridge-lines she had passed to the east and then south as Einar had been following her to the college after his little tantrum, which meant, thankfully, that they were still in Skyrim.

Within the town itself several clumps of mortals doing what could generously be termed ‘fighting’ against perhaps half a dozen Faceless giants and myriad lesser voidspawn, and overhead, in smoggy sky several proto-drakes wheeled above the city – probably responsible for all the pleasant fire and smoke.

The single most eye-catching element, however, was the towering beam of colourless energy erupting near the centre of the city that shot into the sky and had utterly warped the surrounding buildings beyond recognition. It seemed to drink in the light around it, and even as Caprifexia watched she saw twisted masses of fleshy voidspawn emerge, ranging from creatures as large as her whelpling form to those the size of those horses the mortals loved so much.

“This is… this is Windhelm!” gasped the cat, apparently recognising the city.

“What in Oblivion is that?” said Einar, pointing at the beam of void light.

“That is the tear I saw on the entrance-way to Nirn when we were in the void,” said Caprifexia. “Obviously.”

“Did the dragons make it?” asked Einar.

“J’zargo does not think so,” said J’zargo, gesturing to a proto-drake as it strafed a Faceless one, it’s fire consuming the towering giant entirely for a moment, before the flames faded, revealing an entirely unharmed monster. “They do not seem pleased by the presence of these ‘Faceless.’”

“Einar, you’ve been here before?” said Caprifexia. “Where is an exit? We need to leave – now.”

“What? We can’t just abandon this place,” said Einar. “We need to help, you’re suppose to be a hero-”

“What part of ‘I cannot defeat Faceless’ did you not understand you rock-brained mortal!?”

“But won’t this just spread? That rift I mean.”

“Unless a given existence’s metaphysical defences are utterly shattered, or there are extremely unusual circumstances, then the energy required to keep a void-tear open is equal to the factor of the size of the initial aperture and whatever that world’s specific void integrity quotient is to the power of the number of seconds since the aperture was opened,” she explained clearly. “In the absence of any directed energy keeping the tear open, the diameter of the aperture will shrink at a rate equal to the factor of 0.033 times the inverse of the void integrity quotient to the power of the time since it stopped receiving energy, plus the initial size of the aperture.”

There was a moment of silence.

“… what?” said Einar in an exasperated voice.

“_E=aivt and da=0.033(-vt) + ai_, respectively,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“What does that even mean!?”

“They’re exponential functions you ignorant ape.”

“I don’t know what those are!” said Einar.

“J’zargo believes the small dragon is saying, in her typically confusing manner, that the ‘tear’ will close by itself eventually, no matter how much energy is being used to maintain it,” said J’zargo, apparently eventually able to wrap his tiny mind around her perfectly clear explanation and rather simple mathematics.

Honestly. It was a wonder that mortals had ever learnt to make fire.

“Oh, that’s much clearer,” said Einar.

“It’s precisely what I said!”

“Sure it was Capri,” conceded Einar, rolling his eyes in shame at his own ignorance. “But for those who can’t do horrific mathematics in their head, how long is ‘eventually?’ Those things seem virtually indestructible. Even the ‘proto-drakes’ aren’t so much as denting them.”

“I’d need to know this world’s VIQ to answer that, and I would need to do some experiments to work that out.”

“Guess.”

“Well Azeroth’s VIQ was 1.0001, but I suspect that this world’s might be higher, since you don’t seem to have an Old God infestation,” she said. “But if that tear was on Azeroth, without any energy being added to it… thirty three hours.”

“So those things will keep on pouring out of that portal for more than a whole day? Capri, they’ll overrun Nirn.”

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic, no they wont,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Faceless are incredibly powerful when able to draw directly on Void energy, but they are fundamentally inimical to reality and without a constant supply of power they and the lesser spawn will wither and diminish. This is a self-solving problem.”

“Dammit Capri, what about all the people who are going to get hurt before it ‘solves itself?’ Hero’s care about that.”

“As I have said multiple times you deaf mortal: I cannot fight Faceless. My sentiments are irrelevant. We have no option but to flee – preferably before you ask me any more inane questions.”

Overhead a proto-drake soared overhead, unleashing a shard of ice at a one of the monstrosities. It had more effect than the fire, and the creature stumbled from the force of the blow. But the ice didn’t piece it’s fleshy body, and instead a tentacle whipped up, snaring the fake-dragon out of the air and dragging it down to the ground. The two-legged reptile thrashed and roared, trying to escape, but the creature tightened it’s grip and the proto-drake’s movements became more and more feeble.

“OK, I can see what you mean,” gulped Einar as the proto-drake’s neck snapped with an audible crack. “There’s, err, a gate this way.”

“Why is the Dragon’s Thu’um not affecting the creatures?” asked J’zargo as they ran down the warped street, watching as to their right a Faceless, taller than the three story houses shrugged off another blast of fire effortlessly, responding with a torrent of void magic that narrowly missed the circling reptile.

“Einar said the ‘Voice’ is some ridiculous magic specific to this world,” she theorised. “The ‘language of the SABIGISMFs-’”

“The what?” asked J’zargo.

“Sufficiently Advanced Beings that are Indistinguishable from Gods to Idiotic and Superstitious Mortal Fools,” explained Caprifexia.

“What?”

“She means the Divines,” said Einar. “Capri is an atheist.”

“An… atheist?” said the small minded feline, as if this somehow was an incomprehensible position, instead of self-evidently the most logical and reasonable one. “But the Divines exist. There is documented proof of their interventions and manifestations, J’zargo has read many accounts. Restoration magic comes directly from Mara. On what possibly grounds could they be denied?”

“I have explained all this,” said Einar. “But, as you’ve probably realised, you can’t really convince Capri of anything if she thinks she’s right and you’re wrong.”

“J’zargo has noticed this,” said the cat, nodding and stroking his chin.

“Are you done being ignorant mortal fools?” she snapped. “Good. As I was saying, if the ‘magic’ of this ‘Voice’ is just commanding the ridiculous artificial laws of this reality to bend to accomplish something, then it will have very little affect on a being outside those laws.”

“That… actually sort of makes sense,” said Einar as they rounded another corner, coming into sight of the gate.

Ahead of them was a crowd of mainly civilians, cowering behind a line of blue-clad Nord men and women, who were struggling to push past a line of voidspawn to the gate itself.

Had she been alone, she would have just flapped over their heads, but Einar was with her, and she couldn’t abandon him. Oh, and she was a hero. She should probably help the civilians escape the death-trap of a city. That was heroic, wasn’t it?

“Out of the way mortals,” she said, shoving a small child to the side who was taking up far too much of the road. They fell over and started crying, but that seemed very much like a them problem.

The others swiftly parted, learning the small one’s lesson as fire blossomed around her fist, blasting forward a moment later and smashing into one of the lesser abominations. A blonde soldier yelped as the searing column lightly singed her hair and clothes, but as usual, it was nothing but mortal melodrama.

“Ahh!” screamed the woman, batting at her hair as the flame-wreathed voidspawn she had been fighting convulsed and died. Well, not died, it wasn’t really alive to begin with – it just sort of lost cohesion and sank down into the ground in a puddle of noxious bubbling fluid.

Caprifexia ignored the ungrateful and flammable mortal’s over-the-top wailing, skewering another of the voidspawn with a viciously sharp spike of rock.

“Capri!” whinged Einar as she obliterated a third spawn.

“What?”

“That thing – the ‘Faceless’ – that we saw in the smoke, it’s coming! I can feel it in my head again.”

Caprifexia turned, her eyes widening as the twenty meter high monstrosity rounded the corner. Although Caprifexia couldn’t be sure, since it wasn’t called a ‘Faceless’ for nothing, she got the distinct impression it was looking at her.

The mob of mortal civilians also saw it, and probably felt it in their small, feeble minds. They surged forward toward the gate, screaming as they jostled past her and the mortal guards, ignoring the still living voidspawn even as the smaller monstrosities cut dozens of them down. The soldiers broke a moment later, adding even more chaos to the terrified stampede.

“Cat, protect Einar!” she said, her hands shaking as she moved towards the creature, transforming and flapping above the throng. Her scales began to glow as the creature neared, although it didn’t block out the entirety of the creature’s telepathic aura.

“J’zargo is not a cat!” said the cat angrily, but nonetheless obeying and grabbing Einar, pushing him towards the gate and blasting apart a voidspawn that lunged at him.

Content that her friend was as safe as could be managed given the circumstances, Caprifexia bared her fangs at the approaching Faceless. Her normal magic would have more of an affect than the silly fake dragon’s ‘Thu’um,’ but there was no way that even an immensely powerful whelpling like her could conjure a firestorm large enough to harm such a huge Faceless, let alone while it was being strengthened so much by it’s close proximity to the rift.

That didn’t, however, mean she was without options to slow it down. She was a dragon. Dragons always had options.

She reached for the sickly, cloying power of the Void, and immediately whispers far louder than anything the Faceless could manage pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her focus as she began to shape her spell.

**W̵̢̧͙̗̼͈̩͍̯͈̺̬͔͂͂̋̌̂̎̿̃̾̅͘e̸̢̡͈̜͎͍̪͕̘͖͓͖̩͛͒̽̅͑̎́̓̋͛͠ͅͅ ̷̛͖̠̈͆͛̓̑͂̈́̂͊̈̕͘̕w̵̳̦̥̲̎̂̃̔̄͊̀͐͌̔ȋ̷̡͇͇͓̳͓͖̮̠̟̓̇͑̈͂̉̈́̅͛͝l̴̬̲̅͐̋̋̒̈̿̇͒͜͠ļ̸̹̣͕̬̈́̇̿̈̉̓͐͋̽̆̑͝ ̴̨̘̻̹̬͈̦͕͍͇͉͔̻͒̈͂̽̇̉̀̏̓̆͘̚͝c̷̛̳̯̼͕̘̫̩̰̠͔̯͛͛̈́͆̈́̂̀͐͘͝ǒ̴̞̣̫̩̒͛̈́̓̉̃̓͘͝n̴̤͌̆̀̈͗̎̓͘s̸̢̢͚̹̹͈͎̳͇̝͇̠̘͈̓̊́͌͂̒̅͜ư̷̢̧̨̛̗͖̘̰̘̘͚̣͔̈́͊̑͂͛̄̃̍̆m̴̛̗̦̠͂̈͂̏̓̐͆̈̈̂͑͜͝ȩ̸̢̡̛̫̝̪̪̞̭̺̲̤̘͇̗̾̉͒͌̿͑̐͊̿͐̿̇͠͝ ̷̡̥͈̲̝̥̜̰͎́͑̍̂̒̉͂̇͐͘y̵̧̨̞̣̗̼̻͇̫͍̳̼̏͌͋̑͛ͅͅǫ̵̛̙̤̝̟̟̲̮͎̮̬̅̆́̐̍͌̆̐͘͜u̶̧̡̧͕͇͍̞̳̟̻̪̬̽̋̌͊͒̃̿̐̉̾̋̏̕͝ŗ̴̨̛̦͚̲̯̝̝͖̬̙̝̎̓̀͋͜͠ ̸̡̧̛͉̟̟͎̘̞͇̥̥́̊̄̋͛̑̀̄̏͘͘̚͜͝ṣ̸̛̹̈̉̃̾̍̈̅͌͋̿͌͋̓͝ͅo̵̬̥̙̪͚̠̲͎̥͔̬͔̓̒̒́͌̕ư̴̡̛̛̗̫̱̥̗͍̱̭̌͊̆̌͋͒͆́̄̚̚ļ̷͇͕̫̳̼̘̎͐̈́̄́͐̆̚͠.̴͈͖͖̦̫̐.̸̧̰͍̞͕͑͂̈́͌̾̑̕.̶̢̡͎͉̟̥͕̘͕̯͐̅͊͌͒̄͋̊̋͐̂͗̕**

The magic built, colourless light dancing over her claws as she gradually forged it into a lance. The creature drew closer, it’s thudding steps shaking the buildings around her as the golden light from under her scales grew and grew and grew. Her head began to throb as the whispers began to cut into her mind, digging in like a dagger behind her right eye.

**Ÿ̶̬͔̣͚̬̞̙́͊̂̂͑̕͠o̶̡̦͍̩̭̲͍̘͙̐̾̔͋̈́̚͝u̶̹͌̾͌̈́̓̅̏̇͗̅̂͆͘̚ ̸̖͙̘͋c̸̢̞̄̈̆̑̂̑̓̑̈̈̚a̶̢̞̘̼͍̭̖̺̼̟̜̯̠̥̱͆̚n̸̗͂̌͋̒̿̽̋́̇̈́̃̓n̵͈̮̝͙̘̤͙͍̜̭͊̂̃̑͌͆̒̓̃̏̊̑͘͠ǒ̴̡̜̲̣̗̑̅̃̀̎ṫ̶̨̡̧̞͍̦̠͒̓̎̽ ̵̛̼͕̮͚̖̲̣̤͎̆̂͂͊̏͛̒̽̈́̈́̂̂̕̕͜ȩ̵͈̯͎̣͎̤̮̞̼͖͒͗̋̈́̎͆͜s̸͕͇͕̟̙̳̪̱͍̞̠̜̩͇͐̓̿̈͒ͅc̶̫͔̬͈͊͝a̵̹͔͛̉͒̑͌͝ͅṕ̵̪̰̣̘͙͎̮̐̈́̂͜͜ě̴̗̺͈͎͈̙̀́̎̿̑̃̈́͛̚͝.̶̧̩̟͕̑͌̉͋͘͜.̴͕̹̈́͗͛̀̒͌͊̄͛͝͠.̴͙̣͍̄̋̓̍̀̉͜ ̵̧̜̙̩͈͓̝͔͍̝̱̯̻̦͕̐̒̅̈́͂͘͝**

“_Nulius_!” she shouted, and a lance of void light shot from her claws, streaking down the road and striking the charging creature in the leg.

The silly ‘Thu’um’ might have not worked against the Faceless, and normal, proper magic would also have had a reduced effectiveness on a creature soaked in the energy of unreality. But Caprifexia had not used normal magic, she had fashioned a bolt of razor sharp energy from the same force that animated the creature, so rather than bouncing off, or leaving a small wound, her bolt of void energy cut straight through the creature’s left leg in a shower of purple blood and gore.

The creature screamed telepathically, and Caprifexia grinned ferally as it slowly and ponderously began to fall, crashing face-less first into the filthy mortal street with enough force that a nearby, half-burnt house collapsed.

It wasn’t dead, she knew, but she hadn’t been trying for that. Even a whelp as unusually powerful, magnificent, clever, and generally amazing as herself wasn’t up to that kind of magic. It would heal, and probably quite quickly, but the attack had been enough to slow it down.

And if the creature was foolish enough to stray far from the Void-soaked ambient energy of the tear? Well then it would begin to wither, and then she – with perhaps some moral support from the cat – would have no trouble ripping it to shreds.

She allowed herself a few moments to bask in her victory before she turned, flapping after Einar and roasting one of the straggling voidspawn with a blast of dragonfire as she soared under the twisted stonework of the gatehouse and out into the churned snow, streaking after the fleeing mortals.


	12. The Feline Insubordination Incident

**Chapter 12 – The Feline Insubordination Incident**

“What are you looking at, you filthy mortals?” snapped Caprifexia as she passed by a rough cookfire, glaring at the dozen or so dirty hairless apes smiling at her.

Their grins faded, and they looked at each other in confusion as Caprifexia moved onward up the small gully, looking for where the bleeding-hearted Einar had run off to.

It was the evening after Caprifexia had heroically single-handedly saved the inhabitants of the mortal city of Windhelm from total destruction, and for some reason Einar and the cat had insisted on ‘helping’ the displaced refugees, rather than getting back to the, in comparison, far more interesting quest to kill all the disgusting proto-drakes.

The camp itself was nestled in a sheer-faced gully around an abandoned, burnt out farmhouse at the edge of some woods. To the north, over what had once been fields, the fading light of the tear into the Void could be seen. On either side, to the east and west, rose steep, snowy slopes that quickly gave way to vertical cliffs, and high above them to the south was a towering snowy peak. It had a name, but she hadn’t been listening to Einar on the way up. After using Void magic she’d had a pretty bad headache, the last after affects of which hadn’t quite disappeared.

The Faceless and their spawn hadn’t followed them, not wishing to stray too far from the source of their power, and apparently content – as far as a nigh unintelligible horror could be content – to battle the stream of proto-drakes that seemed drawn to the wound in reality like mortals to shiny baubles, and which could still be seen in the distance, pouring flame down onto the distant smoking ruins of Windhelm.

The cat was off somewhere healing people, although she didn’t particularly care. Discovering that he had had the ability to heal came as no real surprise – the lack of the discipline to stick one area of the art and seek perfection was emblematic of a scatty-brained mortal approach to magic – and life generally.

But worst of all, Einar had insisted that she wear her mortal form while in the makeshift camp. Apparently her true form would ‘overwhelm’ the cowering, simpering, and dirty mortals. And while she could easily believe that, this was apparently a reason not to do it. ‘Scaring innocent people’ wasn’t considered heroic. Allegedly.

Finally, after snapping at three more groups of the dishevelled mortals for not minding their own business she found him boiling strips of cloth by one of the fires. Why exactly Einar thought that clothing made good food, she had no idea, but mortals were pretty weird and she didn’t have time to try and understand every single one of their irrational foibles.

“There you are,” she said, sniffing suspiciously at the bubbling mixture.

“Oh, hey Capri,” he said, putting a stick into the mixture and pulling out several of the clothes and arranging them to dry. “Need something? Get bored of your book?”

“These mortals will not leave me alone,” she said. “They keep on bothering me, staring, doing strange things with their hats, and holding out babies at me. I do not like it.”

“It’s probably because, and I know this might seem pretty weird, they think you’re actually a hero,” he chortled, clearly finding the constant stream of irritation amusing. “After all, it was pretty impressive how you hamstrung that Faceless.”

“Everything I do is impressive, and that has never resulted in pestering before,” she said. “How do I make them stop? Fire?”

“No! No fire!” said Einar urgently.

“How then?”

“Capri, why are you annoyed about being appreciated?” he said. “Normally you demand recognition for doing absolutely nothing. Now your getting it for something you actually did. You actually acted like a hero, saving all those people-”

“Their survival was purely incidental. I was protecting you, not them.”

“I suppose being a hero incidentally is still being a hero,” he said. “Just be nice. OK? These people have been through a lot.”

“I am always nice. I am a dragon.”

Einar seemed to find this amusing, and chuckled to himself as he added more rags to the clothes soup.

“Do you have any idea about what caused the tear?” he asked, growing more sombre.

“Some kind of powerful spacial magic,” said Caprifexia, waving a mortal hand airily.

“Did someone on this side create it?”

“Of course, if the Old Gods could open portals into reality from the Void on a whim this world would have been destroyed eons ago.”

Einar hummed pensively and went back to stirring while Caprifexia opened the first of the books Sorbet had given her, and which she’d been trying to read all evening. She wasn’t entirely sure that the undead hadn’t been pulling her tail about tapping remotely into the magic of a place and using it without changing it’s form, but the prospect of being able to cast magic without growing tired was too tempting to pass up.

Even her relatively small use of Void magic against the Faceless had given her a headache that pulsed irritatingly behind her eyes. Not that any of the ‘five aspects of mana’ would let her use void magic without the associated exhaustion, at least, she didn’t think so. ‘Black’ seemed to broadly fall under the schools of umbramancy, and was not the un-energy of the Void itself.

Caprifexia was just about to start one of the meditative exercises that the book spoke about when Einar finished cooking his rags and began to fold the dry ones for later consumption. Or something, she didn’t really care, what annoyed her was that he felt the need to bother her yet again.

“Capri,” he said. “That desert plane, the destroyed one-”

“Zarrak.”

“How do you know it’s name- no, nevermind, ‘you’re a dragon,’” he said, demonstrating his almost endearing limited capacity to learn. “Was it destroyed by something similar to what happened in Windhelm?”

“I told you-”

“About the ‘Void Integrity Quotient,’ yes,” he said. “But I’m asking if something like what happened Windhelm could be part of, err… lowering it?”

“No, that would be a separate process,” she said. “It would require a generalised weakening of the barriers of reality, not a specific and localised rip in space-time.”

“But the actual ‘rips’ that were made if the ‘Void Integrity Quotient’ was bought to ‘1’ could have been like in Windhelm?”

“Hypothetically,” she said, somewhat impressed he had managed to understand that much. Well… the cat had probably told him. “At at VIQ of exactly 1, tears would neither expand nor contract without outside influence.”

“So how do you think ‘Zarrak’ died?”

“Does this matter? I’m in the middle of trying the make sense of that ridiculous vampire’s silly magic.”

“Yeah Capri, it matters.”

“Fine,” she said, devoting her immense mind to the problem for a moment. “I suppose that the death of Zarrak’s so-called ‘Sun-God’ could have weakened the defences of the reality – if the _SABIGISMFs_ of that world were integral to maintaining it, like they apparently are here.”

“Wait – one of that world’s Gods died?” he said. “How do you know that?”

“I read it in a book.”

“What ‘book?’” asked Einar.

“One I found in that temple, the one with the statutes of the winged woman.”

“So if Nirn’s Gods were to die, maybe even just one of them, then the same thing could happen?”

“Probably,” she said with a shrug.

Einar trailed off again pensively, stacking the cleaned food-rags into a box and handing them to another one of the stare-y mortals. Hoping that she might finally be able to try out one of the book’s exercises, Caprifexia closed her eyes once again, calming her mind and sensing the mana around her.

According to the book one accomplished ‘bonding’ with the energy of a place by understanding it. She wasn’t exactly sure what they meant by that, she had been able to feel the ebb and flow of energy around her since before she’d hatched, the great flowing lines of power that were the lifeblood of reality, that kept the world’s various systems in balance, weaving together into the mind-boggling tapestry that was creation.

And she already understood it, the various formulae and rules she had learned and put together from both her classes and ancestral memories explained what was happening around her. She knew why ley-lines formed, where they were likely to fork or fuse, and how to tap into them for ritual magic. She could list the seven laws of astral flux by heart. She knew how to weave power into fire and ice and electricity. She could feel if someone near her was casting magic, and sense if objects were affecting the flow of energy around them. She already understood.

But that incredible and concrete knowledge, apparently, wasn’t wishy-washy enough for the discipline, because as the night trudged onward and she heard the simpering mortals grow silent as they bedded down under whatever shelter they could find she still hadn’t managed to create the ‘bond’ that the book spoke of.

“Stupid vague magic,” she huffed, opening her eyes and standing, stretching her mortal body that had become sore for sitting in place for so long.

Einar was still nearby, rolled up tightly in what looked like only one of his usual three blankets. She spotted the other two nearby, draped over two grubby looking children. He shivered, and she reflexively cast a warming charm over the recklessly soft-hearted fool and, after a moment’s deliberation, over the disgusting snotty nosed juvenile mortals as well.

In the distance the tear was still open, although it seemed to be on it’s last legs. The proto-drakes were still attacking, and from the look of it, the Faceless were already becoming diminished.

The entire episode was vaguely worrying, despite her attempts to reassure the latest of Einar’s never ending neurosis. Tears into the Void did not just open themselves, and the although she had heard of the rituals needed to create them, they implied incredibly powerful and complicated magic – the kind that normally only ancient dragons could accomplish.

And why attack this random mortal town? As far as she knew, and she was reasonably confident that she had a handle on the pointless mortal politics of this realm, it was pretty unimportant. It certainly couldn’t have been some kind of seat of power given the way it had crumpled instantly – nothing that could possibly have threatened a spellcaster powerful enough to open the tear in the first place.

So why had the caster done it? She was clearly missing something key.

With a huff she pushed the thoughts aside and closed her eyes again, reaching out into the mana around her, letting it flow around her and trying to achieve the vague ‘insight’ that the book spoke of.

Nothing happened, but as the minutes ticked by and she delved deeper and deeper into the flow she began to feel a slight disturbance a few kilometres to the north. It wasn’t anything like what the book described, but she seized upon it and mentally followed its to it’s source. After all, the author had only been a mortal – it wouldn’t have surprised her if they were wrong.

The disturbance vanished a moment later, and she lost the thread. She was about to pull her consciousness back when she felt it again, clearer this time, next to the far, far fainter, but still distinct and identifiable sickly cloying feel of dark magic bunching around what felt like a dozen figures.

A dozen figures who reeked of necromantic magic.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Einar!” she barked, rushing over to him and shaking his shoulder. “Einar! Wake up you lazy mortal!”

“What? Capri?” he said groggily, half-pushing her away. “It’s super late, go to sleep.”

“There are spell-casters coming – using dark magic.”

“Spellcasters?” he said, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean-”

“Vampires, I believe,” she said. “To the north, down the gully.”

His eyes cleared, and a moment later he was on his feet.

“Are you sure?”

“I am a drag-”

“OK, you’re sure,” he said, rushing over to J’zargo and shaking the cat awake. “J’zargo, Capri has sensed some vampire’s approaching.”

“Vampires?” said the cat, sitting up and rubbing his furry head. “Is she sure it was not just a bad dream? She is a child-”

“Of course I’m sure, you overgrown mortal house-pet,” growled Caprifexia.

“J’zargo is not-”

“We don’t have time to argue about just how much of a bigot Capri is,” said Einar, pulling the cat up and pushing him northward. “I’ll wake everyone – you two slow them down, do something wizardy!”

The gully ran toward the ruins of the city itself, and had been the way that they had come up earlier that day, and although she could easily have flown over either side of the steep walls, east or west, the sheer cliffs were more or less impassable to the pathetic mortals that it seemed to be her responsibility to babysit.

“How many did you sense?” asked J’zargo as he cast a series of warelights out over the snowy plane, illuminating it in flickering blue light.

“A dozen,” she said.

“That is too many vampires to fight directly, even for J’zargo.”

“What about the mortals, could we use them as meat shields?” asked Caprifexia.

J’zargo raised an eyebrow. “J’zargo thought you were a ‘hero.’”

“A pragmatic hero – the best kind of hero.”

“If the refugees were all trained and armed they might stand a chance,” said J’zargo. “But most are craftspeople, or labourers.”

“There were a few soldiers,” she said.

“That might help. But they are not trained to fight undead killing machines stronger and faster than they are,” said J’zargo, scratching his furry chin. “And J’zargo does not think more than perhaps a dozen survived – even with ten times that J’zargo would not give them good odds.”

Caprifexia cleared her throat and waited for a few beats.

“… so that’s a no on the craftspeople and labourer meat shields?”

“Of course!” said J’zargo, having the temerity to sound exasperated. “You cannot save people by getting them killed!”

“Fine, if we’re arbitrarily not allowed to use all the resources available to us what do you suggest?”

“Vampires are weak to sunlight,” said J’zargo.

“It’s the middle of the night. Are you blind?”

“J’zargo is just brainstorming.”

“‘Storm?’ Hah. It’s barely a light squall with you mortals.”

“You are a very unhelpful ‘dragon.’”

“Alright – they don’t like fire either.”

“Better,” he nodded, looking up at the sides of the gully. “We cannot flee anywhere except backward, and there may not be a way all the way up the mountain behind us, let alone down the other side.”

“What about the vampires, could they surround us?” she asked. She wasn’t really sure what this world’s particular brand of vampires were capable of. Back on Azeroth they had had wings, but the one that had tried to eat Einar, and who she had set on fire, heroically, had looked more or less like any other mortal.

“J’zargo does not think so,” he said. “They are strong and fast, but those cliffs are very steep. Vampires are also arrogant, if we attack, they will likely not consider going around us.”

“Then we have another advantage, I can fly to safety.”

“… J’zargo does not see how that helps slay the vampires.”

“I’m just ‘brainstorming.’”

“You are too small to carry anyone,” he said. “What about opening a portal into the Void with your strange and inadequately explained magic? Evacuate the refugees that way?”

“This close to a rip like that?” she said, gesturing to the still visible pillar of Void light. “A Faceless might feel it and follow us back into the Void. And then we’d all be definitely dead.”

She also wasn’t entirely sure, if it was her Spark that protected her friend (and the cat), that she would be capable of shielding so many people from the ravages of the Void at once. She had certainly gotten exhausted before when overusing her incredible, amazing ability in a short period of time, so immediately testing her limits with over a hundred of the mortal refugees did not seem a good idea.

“Then we must either slay them all, or delay them long enough for the sun to rise,” he said.

“Sunrise is not for another four hours and sixteen minutes.”

“How do you know that so exactly?” asked the cat.

“I am a dragon.”

The cat harrumphed and looked out over the snowy field.

“J’zargo will begin making some runic traps,” he said. “You go forward and scout, let J’zargo know when they are getting close.”

“Who put you in charge?” said Caprifexia.

“J’zargo is the most senior wizard present, therefore he should be in charge. It is only logical.”

“Pah, ‘senior?’ Only in time spent floundering with cantrips, not in ability or power or intelligence or general magnificence,” she said. “Besides, I am immortal, you are mortal, therefore I should be in charge. It’s only natural.”

“We do not have time to argue this,” said the cat. “Why are you opposed to my idea?”

“I’m not, on principle,” she said, transforming into her whelpling form. “But I’m in charge.”

“Does that mean you are going to go and scout?” he said as he moved forward, carefully beginning to carve a runic array into the snow.

“Only because I’ve decided to incorporate elements of your suggestion into my master plan.”

“So long as J’zargo gets his warning, the small lizard can believe what she wants.”

“I am not a lizard!”

“J’zargo is not a cat!”

Caprifexia growled at him, before taking off into the air and climbing rapidly, heading northward. The moon wasn’t out, and the sky was clouded over, but the light from the Void rift cast eerie flickering light over the entire valley.

She spotted the vampires less than a minute later. They were casually strolling up the snowy path in no apparent hurry, chuckling and laughing to one another. To the naked eye they looked like fairly normal, boring mortals. Most of them were humans, with one or two elves, and one of the reptilian humanoids - ‘agronian’ she thought they were called – who was wearing heavy, dark-steel plate armour, and who seemed to be the leader, judging by her position at the front of the group.

If they saw her high above them, they gave no indication. Caprifexia contemplated conjured a ball of fire and dropping it on them, but her brilliant plan, which she had J’zargo executing the grunt work of back near the burntout farmhouse, was the catch them unawares in a web of poorly crafted, but hopefully effective magically charged arrays.

Usually runic arrays they were carefully carved into an object with a specific purpose by taking a circle, at least one kind of geometric shape, and whatever script the wizard in question preferred to work with. The combination of the shape, the distance between symbols, and the understanding that the caster had of all those elements was what turned the energy that the array was charged with into an effect of some kind.

Normally one took pains to make sure if the array became compromised in some way then the energy would discharge in a more or less controlled manner, hopefully not entirely destroying the artefact or area in question so it would be possible to repair, and not immediately killing anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby.

J’zargo’s arrays, however, were hopefully – assuming he knew what his job in her master plan was – not going to feature any such fail-safes. Instead they would be focused on hiding their thaumic signature as much as possible, and holding the energy in some kind of particularly destructive form so that when someone, say a vampire, stepped on the lines and disrupted them they would destabilise. Explosively.

Back on Azeroth some of the mortal races had made a treaty banning the use of ‘hidden underground trap-runic arrays,’ but her people had never paid any attention to such nonsense, and had used them extensively in their war against mortal-kind.

From her vantage point high in the air Caprifexia could see Einar herding the bleary eyed mortal refugees higher up into the gully, and the cat working his way backward across the field, quickly carving circles, triangles, and symbols with his claws, charging the shape with energy, and then covering them gently in conjured snow.

She waited until the strolling vampires were nearing a rise that would bring them into view of the farmhouse before turning and flapping back to the cat, who had worked quickly and was nearly back at the farmhouse.

“They’re coming?” he said, finishing one last rune and covering it in snow.

“Yes,” she said. “Twelve of them, an agronian-”

“-argonian-”

“-whatever, seems to be the leader. She is wearing armour, it might be enchanted.”

“J’zargo sees,” said the cat. “Come, help J’zargo with an illusion that the camp is still full – we do not want them to know that we know that they are coming.”

Caprifexia nodded, glad that the cat was sticking so closely to her plan, and raised her claws.

“Mentidus,” she intoned, conjuring a few simple images of mortals cooking and drinking clothes soup. They weren’t fully three dimensional, the lines weren’t great, the colours were flat, and the movements a bit janky, but so long as the vampire’s didn’t look too closely it would seem from afar like a perfectly normal scene of mortal life.

The cat conjured some more illusions, needlessly wasting time on realism as she conjured more images, until the now empty camp looked like it was filled with dirty mortals.

Once they were done she flapped over to where the cat hunkered down behind the shell of the farmhouse, alighting on what had once been the structure’s eave as the group of vampires crested the rise and came into view.

The vampires were no longer strolling along, and had instead fanned out, their movements full of swift and fluid grace. A human might have had had trouble seeing them, but Caprifexia had no difficulty picking out their dark forms. Cats, and she assumed therefore also ‘khajiite,’ were also renowned for their eyesight.

The vampires were almost halfway across the snowy field before one of them hit a runic mine.

As one of the elvish vampire’s boots broke the thin crust of fresh snow there was a brief flare of orange lightning, before with a deafening boom an explosion sent snow and small bits of vampire flying across the field. The other vampires froze, staring at the pair of smoking boots that was all that remained of their fellow.

He might have been a puffed up, overconfident, fluffy mortal fool, but she’d admit, J’zargo could certainly could create unstable and dangerously shoddily crafted runic circles. She supposed there were some upsides to being a terrible wizard.

“Don’t move,” hissed the agronian vampire, baring her teeth as her cold yellow eyes flicked over the field, eventually settling on the flat and completely obviously unreal illusions that J’zargo had put up in what could only be described as reckless expedience. “Wizards – they felt us coming; you idiot Horvan, I told you not to curse that owl.”

“How was I to know-” began a once-human vampire.

_“Shut up,”_ she said. “Retrace your steps – exactly, unless you want to end up like Jezerella over there.”

“We’re retreating? But I was promised blood!” complained the apparently suicidal vampire called Horvan. “You said there would be easy pickings, that winged-”

“Shut up before I rip out your tongue,” snarled the Agronian. “We are not retreating – we are falling back so we can detonate this death-trap safely.”

“J’zargo does not think they will like this next part,” whispered J’zargo, holding up a paw as they began to retreat.

“What?” said Caprifexia.

“Not all the arrays were shallow enough to be set off by a boot,” he said as orange lightning began to arc between his claws. “They passed over many before reaching that one.”

Caprifexia and the cat shared sharp toothy grins as he closed his fist, and Caprifexia again revised her estimation of the cat slightly upward in her mind.

If the previous detonation had been loud, but the rest of the back line of runic-mines was ear-splitting. The entire far side of the snowfield erupted in a blaze of orange fire, obscuring the entire scene as ice, dirt, bits of clothing and vampire dust rained down on everything as far back as the burnt-out farmhouse itself.

For a moment Caprifexia thought that her brilliant plan might have gotten all the vampires, but then the smoke cleared, revealing three figures still standing: the lead agronian lizard-vampire, whose clearly enchanted armour was glowing cherry red, and two singed looking fellows: a human man with an ash covered face who seemed very surprised to be alive and an elven man with greyscale skin and half of his hair burnt off who had summoned a shield around himself.

“Sven, are you alright!?” said the agronian.

“Fine… ish,” said the elf, rubbing his hair. “Are you sure this is worth it Sivvy? I’m not even hungry.”

“We just lost ten- no, wait, nine fledglings, fledglings we needed to find Serana,” said the lizard. “And if we fail him…”

“Ugh, you’re right,” said the elf, pulling a few strands of black, burnt hair before his eyes. “Although I am going to tear whatever wizard did this apart. Just look at my hair!”

“It’s not so bad…” said the agronian, reaching toward the male vampire’s face. “I think you look rugged.”

“Shut up Sivvy,” huffed the elven vampire, pushing her hand away. “You have terrible taste – remember that doublet you bought me? The blue one with frills?”

“I thought it looked dapper,” said the agronian defensively.

“J’zargo thinks that we should fall back and cast more traps,” whispered the cat as the two vampire continued to bicker, the third, human, vampire looking slightly embarrassed at the spat. “Einar should have evacuated the refugees far enough up the gully by now.”

Caprifexia nodded, flapping after the cat as he turned and sprinted deeper into the gully. Further up the mountain the farmland gave way to a pine forest, the snowy ground was a mess of footprints from the refugees that the lightly falling snow hadn’t even begun to cover up. That meant that they couldn’t reuse the runic mine traps.

Thankfully wizards like Caprifexia were infinitely versatile, and with the help of the far more limited J’zargo, she had plenty of options for making the forest lethal.

There was an explosion behind them as they reached the trees and began to lay down their traps. J’zargo seemed to be doing something to the forest itself, but Caprifexia had something far less arboreal in mind. She had noted during her immense battle against the vampire that had tried to eat Einar, employing her incredible deductive skills, that the undead creature’s senses were very keen.

She had countered that with smoke and noise then, but neither of those would be particularly stealthy.

Instead she carefully carved a few elegant draconic runes into the trees, casting a simple spell to turn them into temporary anchors. They wouldn’t last very long, but she didn’t need them to. As she worked explosions continued behind her, the surviving vampires slowly and methodically making their way across the field of runic mines.

She managed to scrawl the draconic characters for ‘Equilibrius’ on perhaps a dozen trees before the explosions had stopped, and the khajiite had already finished what he was doing and retreated further up toward the still scrambling refugees.

Focusing, Caprifexia reached out for her inscriptions, grasping the strands of power and weaving a more complex enchantment on top of them, a curse that would play havoc with the balance anything in the forest.

Caprifexia felt the spell take hold as the vampire’s were cautiously approaching the burntout farmhouse, and flapped up into the upper branches of one of the trees, above the effective area of the enchantment.

The agronian in the plate armour stopped as she reached the corner of the farmhouse, sniffing suspiciously at where the cat had been.

“A khajiite,” she said, before sniffing again. “Something else too – a bit like… brimstone?”

“A familiar perhaps?” said the elven vampire with the burnt hair.

“Perhaps,” said the agronian, straightening and turning to the forest. “Beware more traps. Wizards are seldom one trick ponies – as you know, my Sven.”

The vampires entered the forest cautiously, sticking to the most well trodden areas. They entered the area she had cursed a few moments later, and Caprifexia felt the spell begin to take affect slowly. The human vampire stumbled first, rubbing his head in irritation. Then the elf tripped, sprawling into the snow.

“What is going on!?” said the agronian woozily, digging her sword into the snow and leaning on it heavily.

“Some kind of curse,” said the elf, pushing himself drunkenly upward.

“We should be able to move through it-” began the once human vampire, before the tree he was standing next to burst into motion, a branch smashing into his chest and sending him flying backward.

Caprifexia, sensing an opportunity, took off, carefully staying above the area of her curse for as long as possible before diving downward at the sprawled vampire. It might have been debilitating for a vampire, but she was a dragon, made of far sterner stuff, and if she was careful to keep her time in the field to a minimum she’d be fine.

The human vampire saw her a moment before she opened her jaws, but was too stunned by her majesty to move and just screamed as dragonfire washed over him, thrashing about for a few moments before bursting into a cloud of dust.

Caprifexia grinned to herself and began to rise back into the air, before unexpectedly crashing into the snowy ground that had somehow gotten itself above her. Caprifexia whined as the world cartwheeled around her, spitting out snow as her senses went haywire and she tried to reorient herself.

Apparently her magic was a lot more potent than she had realised. That was normally good, although in this instance… quite bad.

“Got you,” came a hiss from above, and Caprifexia turned over just in time for a gauntleted hand to close around her neck and be wrenched off the ground by the agronian in plate armour.

Caprifexia woozily spat fire, but the vampire pointed her head to the side, and the flames hit nothing.

“What is it?” said the elven vampire, waving his hands about in what looked like a counter-spell – probably for the cat’s silly animated trees. He seemed totally indifferent to the charred remains of the vampire Caprifexia had destroyed, and instead seemed to be mainly irritated by Caprifexia’s incredible enchantment.

“Living,” sniffed the vampire as the moving trees stilled. “Doesn’t seemed to be a summoned being.”

“Unhand me, you bloodsucking mongrel!” said Caprifexia.

“Oh, and it speaks!” said the elven vampire, clapping his hands together. “Can we eat it Sivvy? I’ve never eaten flying talking lizard!”

Caprifexia snarled and summoned fire to her talons, only for it to dissipate as the vampire tightened it’s grip on her neck and Caprifexia’s vision flickered.

“None of that,” said the lizard vampire.

“It can cast magic?” said Sven, peering at Caprifexia for a few moments. “Oh! It must be a shapeshift! That’s very clever.”

“A shapeshift?” said ‘Sivvy’ the lizard vampire.

“A rare and rather hard branch of magic. This is one of the wizards.”

‘Sivvy’ – which really seemed far too unintimidating to be the vampire’s real name – hissed. “You’ve cost me ten of my fledglings, wizard.”

“Only one,” gasped Caprifexia. “The cat did the mines! And the trees! It was all his idea-”

“Which means you did this horrific balance curse,” said the lizard, shaking her. “Undo it. Now.”

“Can’t,” choked Caprifexia. “Anchored.”

The lizards’ grip tightened, and Caprifexia began to panic as her scales squeaked under the pressure. She could try and cast another spell, but the vampire would kill her before it took affect. She could try and Planeswalk, but that would almost certainly summon a Faceless, which would not only kill her, but destroy her soul.

“Hold on Sivvy,” said Sven, causing the lizard-vampire to pause crushing Capri’s neck. “We just lost ten fledgelings – this one would be a good replacement. And I want to know how it did the shapeshift.”

“It burnt off your hair,” said the lizard angrily.

“I can grow it back – I know a cantrip,” said Sven airily. “And look how cute it is with those horns! Please?”

“Fine,” said the lizard with a half-hearted huff and a wry smile. “But only because it’s you.”

She shook Caprifexia roughly. “Change back.”

“Or?” squeaked Caprifexia.

"Or I snap your neck.”

Given the choice between certain, imminent death, and slightly less certain, slightly less imminent death, Caprifexia chose the latter, her form shifting into that of a shortish, dusky skinned elf with glowing orange eyes and long, swept back horns. Her feet didn’t quite reach the snow, and being choked was perhaps even less pleasant in her squishy elven form, but at least she was still alive. Alive meant a chance to figure out a way out of the mess the cat had gotten her into by abandoning her and failing to stick to the plan.

The lizard, however, wasn’t interested in any more chat, and before Caprifexia could so much as begin to come up with another brilliant strategy to get herself out of J’zargo’s mess the vampire grabbed Caprifexia by the horn and opened her mouth, revealing dozens of razor sharp teeth, and bit deep into Caprifexia’s neck.

Caprifexia screamed, thrashing around as her blood steamed and spluttered as it met the air. She tried to call her magic to her, but the combination of pain and nausea from her own spell was too much for even her to focus past, and the power slipped through her mental grasp.

The vampire slurped disgustingly at her neck for several seconds, before jerking back. A moment later Caprifexia hit the snow as the lizard pushed her away, staggering and falling to her knees.

“Sivvy? _Sivvy_? What’s wrong?” said the elven vampire, rushing to the plate-clad vampire’s side.

“It burns,” hissed the lizard vampire, pawing at her throat as the veins beneath her fine facial scales began to turn a burning orange. “It burns.”

“I don’t understand,” said the other vampire, conjuring magic to his own hands and running them over the lizard. “It’s not elven blood! It’s magical- cursed!”

“Help,” choked the lizard as the glowing veins spread further, beginning to char the scales above them. The scent of burning flesh filled the air. _“Help me!”_

“I can’t get it out! I can’t get it out!” said the elf, panic rising in his own voice as magic swirled around him. “Sivvy, oh night, Sivvy-”

The agroanian vampire’s eyes widened in terror, and she grasped at the collar of the elf’s finely made robes and cupped one of the his cheeks in a gauntleted hand.

“I-” she began, before the blazing orange beneath her scales reached a critical threshold, and with a scream the reptillian vampire burst into a cloud of ash.

“No!” screamed the elven vampire, tears streaming down his face as he pawed at the ashes. “No. No. No, no, _no, no!”_

Caprifexia pushed herself upright, fighting through the wave of nausea and pain as the tears in her neck seared themselves closed, and allowed herself a snicker.

“Hah!” she said weakly. “That will teach you to mess with a dragon, abomination. You’d better run, because once I catch my breath-”

The elven vampire’s puffy, bloodshot eyes whipped up towards Caprifexia, and with a yell he launched herself at Caprifexia, grabbing her by the collar, wrenching her upright, and slamming her into a tree hard enough that spots appeared in her vision.

“You killed her! _You killed her!” _he screamed into Caprifexia’s face, pulling her back and slamming her into the tree once again, hard enough that the tree, and several of her ribs, audibly cracked. “I’ll rip out your heart! I’ll flay the skin from your flesh and suck the marrow from your bones, make you beg for-”

There was a whistling sound, and a dull thunk, and the vampire froze, staring down at where a sharpened end of a tree branch was sticking straight through his chest and, irritatingly, about a half a centimetre into Caprifexia’s own coat.

The vampire’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to scream a moment before he burst into a cloud of ash. Caprifexia slid down the tree, landing with a painful thunk in a pile of now empty robes and ash. A whole lot of her ribs were definitely broken, her neck hurt almost as much as when that unfriendly elf had shot her with lightning, her tongue was covered in her own blood, and she felt like she was going to vomit. Above her the tree retracted, returning to it’s normal, unanimated state.

“Small dragon, are you all right?” came the voice of J’zargo, who was staggering drunkenly through her incredible enchantment.

“Absolutely,” she said, deciding, tactically, to stay where she was for the moment. “Totally fine. Obviously.”

“You were to retreat,” said the cat angrily, squatting down and summoning soothing white-gold light to his hands. “Why did you not follow the plan?”

“I was in charge,” she said, whining as her ribs snapped back into place one by one. “You’re the one who didn’t follow the plan. This is clearly your fault.”

“The plan was for you to crash into the snow, get bitten and nearly torn apart by a vampire? J’zargo does not think this was the plan.”

“Exactly – by your own admission you don’t even know what the plan was,” she mumbled as the cat moved to her neck, closing the two holes.

“The small dragon does not seem to be infected with vampirism,” he said after waving his hands over her a few more times. “Did you know that the vampire would die if it attempted to feed on you?”

“Of course,” she said. “I am a dragon.”

J’zargo sighed and wobbled to his feet. “J’zargo is going to go and undo your spell anchors. Stay here and rest, your body has undergone severe trauma.”

“I’ll take that… under advisement,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them again she was over the cat’s shoulder, trekking further up the gully. Behind her the light of the void portal was down to almost nothing, and it was very, very dark.

“Unhand me, mortal,” she grumbled.

“Ah, you are awake,” said the cat, setting her down. “Good. J’zargo was sick of carrying you anyway.”

The cat set her down onto her unusually shaky legs, putting an arm around her shoulder to steady her before they continued onward.

The gully narrowed, and after another five minutes they came to a line of nervous looking soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder around a hundred meters out from where the gully became impassable. Behind them were the other refugees, huddled together with terrified looking eyes.

Eyes that lit up as Caprifexia and the cat came into view.

“Capri, J’zargo!” said Einar, pushing past the line of soldiers. “Are the vampires gone?”

“J’zargo the mighty wizard, and his assistant Caprifexia, destroyed them, yes,” said the cat. “Although the small one was hurt.”

The line of guards threw down their weapons and hugged one another, and a few moments later a cheer went up from the crowd of refugees. Some of them even cried – the mewling pathetic excuses for lifeforms that they were.

“Divines!” said Einar, seeing the trail of dried blood on Caprifexia’s neck. “They bit you!?”

“Not so loud,” winced Caprifexia, covering one of her ears. “And I’m not your assistant, you terrible-wizard, you’re mine.”

“She is without infection,” said J’zargo. “Her blood destroyed one of them when it attempted to feed on her.”

“The leader,” said Caprifexia smugly. “Who had enchanted armour that he couldn’t so much as scratch. Really, I’m the only reason we won.”

“This is ‘somewhat’ true,” admitted J’zargo.

“It was all part of my brilliant plan, although he was very slow to do his part," explained Caprifexia. "That’s why I got hurt in the first place, I had to improvise.”

“That is less true,” said J’zargo impudently.

Thankfully Einar didn’t pester her with more questions, instead finding a blanket for her to lie down on and try to forget about how much her everything hurt. Healing magic was good – although J’zargo’s wasn’t anywhere as near as skilled as Sorbet had been – but even for a magical creature like her it wasn’t perfect, and it would take some time for her wounds to settle.

The rest of the refugees headed back down to their camp, but J’zargo and Einar stayed with her, sorting through the stuff that J’zargo had looted from the vampires.

“Hey Capri, there is another letter in really, really old Imperial,” said Einar after a few minutes. “Up to reading it?”

“Of course, I am a dragon.”

“Here then,” he said, holding the piece of paper in front of her eyes.

_“Lord Sven,”_ she began. _“I hope that this letter finds you well sated. As you may know, I recently tasked one of your fledglings, Maria, with researching the location of an Elder Scroll at Winterhold. According to my sources she failed to even make it to the college, so she is likely dead. If she was one of your favoured children, my condolences._

_“As fortune would have it, however, another of my agents has discovered where my wife managed to hide my daughter so many, many years ago. This, in turn, means that we now know the location of the Elder Scroll they took from me: Dimhollow Crypt, a small cave in the mountains to the west of the Pale virtually on top of those pathetic ‘Vigilants of Stendar.’ In retrospect, that is likely the reason that it has taken this long to locate. I suspect my wife was amused at the thought that she could use those pious mortal fools as a shield._

_“My intelligence indicates that the order has waned significantly in power over the past few centuries, affording us a unique opportunity to not only remove a thorn from our side, but also to retrieve part of what we need for the Ritual of Black Sun. Although weakened, I would still suggest gathering or creating a few more fledglings for the actual assault. Lady Sivvik’s fearsome swordplay would also likely prove invaluable, should she be on hand to assist._

_“Once dealt with, enter the crypt and retrieve the scroll. I would once more advise caution, as my wife is unlikely to have left Serana undefended. A few eager-to-please fledglings to send in first is probably the easiest way to identify any traps, although I leave the details of this operation to you. Use your discretion._

_“Although our mercurial, and (you must forgive me for this my friend) flighty ally has assured me that my daughter is unnecessary for her modified ritual, I would nonetheless prefer her to be returned to me unharmed. Although, regrettably, obtaining the Elder Scroll must be our upmost priority. If you must put her down, then so be it._

_“I would also stay out of Windhelm if I were you, I’ve been told it is to be a ‘test’ of something relating to the ritual, and that the results would be ‘explosive’ – whatever that means. There may be refugees, however – so perhaps they might be a possible source of fledglings to throw into my wife’s traps? At the very least, it could be amusing to watch if you’re nearby._

_“Your King and Friend, Lord Harkon.”_

“Wait, the vampire’s knew that Windhelm was going to be destroyed?” said Einar. “They summoned the Faceless?”

“How should I know, I’m just reading the letter,” said Caprifexia, pushing the stack of paper back towards him.

“J’zargo does not like the sound of this ‘Ritual of Black Sun,’” said J’zargo. “Not if its ‘test’ destroyed a city.”

“It was mentioned in that other letter we got,” said Einar, rummaging in his coat for a moment before bringing out the letter from the first vampire Caprifexia had heroically slain. “So were the Elder Scrolls – seems this ‘King Harkon’ really wants one.”

“Then J’zargo thinks we should make sure that this ‘King’ does not get his claws on one,” said J’zargo.

“We already have a quest – to destroy the proto-drakes,” said Caprifexia.

“J’zargo thinks we should leave that to the dragonborn,” said J’zargo.

Einar cleared his throat awkwardly.

“What?” asked J’zargo suspiciously.

“Nothing,” said Caprifexia innocently. “I certainly didn’t stomp them off a bridge in the Void for their soul to be torn apart, their body broken, and their mind shattered by the Old Gods. That definitely didn’t happen. I have no idea why the proto-drake-born is missing. No idea at all. It’s a real mystery.”

Einar groaned, and J’zargo bared his fangs.

“Is the small dragon telling J’zargo that she killed the Dragonborn?” said the khajiite slowly. “The only being in Mundus who can slay the dragons permanently?”

“No,” huffed Caprifexia. “I said that isn’t what happened. I said the opposite. Are you deaf? Ears full of fur or something?”

“It was… an accident,” said Einar, clearing his throat and blowing their cover. “But yeah… that’s why we’re trying to find a way to stop them.”

The cat put his face in his paws, and a moment later, began to scream.

“Why did you tell him Einar?” said Caprifexia angrily. “Now he’s never going to shut up about-”

“You are the most irresponsible people J’zargo has ever met!” yelled the cat, rudely cutting her off. “It is one thing to kill the Dragonborn, ‘accident’ or no, but another to say nothing about it to anyone!? You are not heroes, you’re menaces!”

“I technically never claimed to be a hero,” said Einar, adjusting his collar nervously.

“Now look what you’ve done, the cat is hysterical,” said Caprifexia. “Everything was fine until you opened your big mortal mouth.”

“He’s not a cat – we’ve talked about this, and I don’t think him being angry the issue here Capri,” said Einar.

“I do,” said Caprifexia.

“You didn’t even have to admit to doing it, you could have just told someone!” ranted J’zargo, pulling at his ears. “Anyone at all!”

“We’re telling you now,” said Caprifexia. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell J’zargo to calm down!” yelled J’zargo, arcs of lightning surging around his body.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” yelled Caprifexia back, matching his halo with her own.

The cat took a deep breath and stood up, pacing back and forth in the snow, his tail flicking from side to side as he tried to reign in his wild and out of line mortal emotions.

“So if J’zargo is understanding things correctly, there are now not only unstoppable dragons rampaging across Tamriel unchecked, but also a horde of organised vampires who have blown up a city and, if the ritual’s name is anything to go by, want to possibly do the same to the sun?” said the cat. “And you two thought that the proper course of action was to handle this by yourself?”

“Um… yes?” said Einar uncertainly. “Actually, saying that out loud, I realise how insane that sounds.”

“I am the greatest hero in the multiverse,” explained Caprifexia. “And a dragon. We had everything under control.”

“This is what we are going to do,” said J’zargo firmly.

“You’re not in charge-”

“Shut up!” said the cat, glaring at her and totally ignoring her warning growl. He was lucky she was now a heroic dragon, otherwise he would have been very on fire. “J’zargo will send a letter to the Archmage, detailing the situation: Arcano’s theft of the orb and attempted murder of J’zargo, the organised vampires and their plot, and the dragonborn’s… ‘disappearance.’ We will go to this Dimhollow Crypt and find this Elder Scroll before the vampires do. Yes?”

“Why should we listen to you?” said Caprifexia. “You’re just an unusually fluffy mortal!”

“Because J’zargo seems to be the only adult here,” said J’zargo. “And because the small dragon’s last ‘plan’ got nine of her ribs broken. The small dragon is no longer allowed to make plans.”

“I say we focus on killing all the proto-drakes,” said Caprifexia. “That sounds much more fun.”

“This is not a vote, and even if it was, you would not get one,” said J’zargo. “We are going to Dimhollow. That is what is going to happen.”

“J’zargo’s right, we need to get this Elder Scroll first,” said Einar. “For all we know, this vampire ‘King’ could have sent others to look for it. And hey, they’re pretty powerful objects – it might help us against the proto-drakes- dammit, the dragons.”

“Fine,” said Caprifexia grumpily. “But only because I was going to Dimfollow Crypt anyway-”

“Dimhollow,” corrected Einar, mishearing her.

“That’s what I said.”


	13. The Undead Liberation Initiative

"J'zargo is just saying, the small dragon has not done anything worthy of the title of 'Greatest Hero in the Multiverse,'" said the impudent, rude, and most of all _wrong_ cat.

They were seven days into the trip across a frigid and boring plain that Einar had called 'The Pale,' on the north western side of which lay Dimhollow Crypt and the supposedly important 'Elder Scroll' that the vampires wanted so much. If Caprifexia had been alone, she could have crossed the seemingly endless and featureless sea of snow in a matter of hours, but with her two mortal charges things were much slower. And more annoying.

"I saved Einar from a pack of werewolves," she countered.

"One of those was the Dovahkiin, J'zargo does not think that counts as 'heroism,'" said J'zargo.

"And a vampire!"

"J'zargo thinks that may have been luck, but even if it was not, that does not make the small dragon 'the Greatest Hero in the Multiverse.'"

"And I killed all those other vampires!"

"No, that was J'zargo," said J'zargo, rewriting history. "The small dragon killed one intentionally, then got captured and destroyed one more unintentionally, before nearly dying and needing the mighty J'zargo's rescue."

"How do you know it was 'unintentional?'" she said. "You didn't even know the plan in the first place! And I saved your life too – after you fell for the nasty elf Arakno's obvious lies."

"Einar was the one who carried J'zargo, and convinced Soren Markov-"

"Who?" she said.

"The one you foolishly call 'Sorbet Melon,'" said J'zargo.

"You're the foolish one. And wrong. And ugly. And _mean_."

"-and convinced _Soren_ to spare your life and heal us," continued J'zargo, managing to ignore her ego-crushing insights into his character. "The small dragon also nearly died."

"Yeah well… you're just an overgrown house pet!" said Caprifexia.

"_Capri_!" said Einar. "You can'tsay that! We've _talked_ about this."

"And you're just a silly looking mortal ape!" said Caprifexia, no longer willing to indulge his wishy-washy, touchy-feely mortal proclivity for dancing around the truth. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm a dragon! The apex of life in the multiverse! The most intelligent and powerful and… and… _best _species there is! You're just _insects _compared to me!"

"J'zargo, please stop winding her up," said Einar.

"J'zargo is merely correcting the small dragon's fallacious view of her own so-called achievements," said the nasty cat.

"J'zargo, she's _two,_" said Einar.

"J'zargo fails to see why that means he should indulge her nonsense," said J'zargo. "Children need to hear the truth so they can learn; the small dragon even more than usual."

"And cats need to be set on fire!" she stated, factually.

"Oh hey, look," said Einar, pointing to a the decaying circular ruins of a mud-brick. "We can make camp there – it will keep the wind off at least."

Caprifexia didn't see what they had to do with flaming felines, but it did get J'zargo to shut up, and she was finally able to return her attention to her book as the two mortals began unpacking and setting up for their needlessly complicated and inefficient non-dried-fish based evening meal.

She was distracted from her study, however, by an annoyingly prickly magical field to the north, which only grew more irritating as she attempted, for what felt like the hundredth time, to go through the book's meditation exercises to try and 'connect' with the land's mana.

"Ugh!" she said, opening her eyes and flapping into the air.

"What is it?" asked Einar, looking up from a pot of watery looking 'food.'

"There is some annoying magic – probably some kind of object, to the north," she said. "I'm going to go and destroy it."

"J'zargo – can you go with her?" asked Einar. "Make sure it isn't some kind of trap or something?"

"I am not a child!" protested Caprifexia.

"J'zargo supposes," said the Khajiite in an irritated voice, as if _he _was the one being imposed on, putting down his own book and standing. "Come along then, small angry dragon – let us see whatever this latest delusion of yours is."

Caprifexia huffed and flapped off in the direction she had felt the magic come from, not waiting for the arrogant feline to catch up.

To the north of the ruined hut was a small rise, at the top of which a cairn marked a burial site. That, by itself, wasn't unusual. Due to the mortal propensity to die, there were mortal grave-sites absolutely everywhere, and you couldn't walk five meters in any direction without tripping over some ancient memorial or the other.

What was odd, however, was the wailing spirit next to it. A human-shaped azure figure that wandered back and forth next to the rocky plinth, swearing and wailing and cursing in a feminine voice.

"It is just a ghost," said J'zargo coming to a stop and turning. "Ignore it."

"Shouldn't we exorcise it?" said Caprifexia. "It seems distressed – that's bad, isn't it?"

Stopping mortals for being distressed – which was a never-ending concern – was, as she understood it, a central part of being a hero. And she was a hero. A great hero. The greatesthero. A _much_ better hero than silly J'zargo. And she was going to prove it to the arrogant moggie, even if she had solve every single meaningless and mundane mortal neurosis from Skyrim to Blackrock.

"Since when does the small dragon care about random spirits?" said J'zargo. "And even if the small dragon knew the spells to release it, which J'zargo doubts, we do not have time. We need to get to Dimhollow Crypt as soon as possible, as well as warn the Vigilants of Stendarr that the vampires are targeting them."

"You might be a terrible hero, you overgrown hairball, but I am not," she grinned, vindicated. "Go and have your horrible stew and be a non-hero. I, Caprifexia, greatest hero in the multiverse, will set this spirit free – _heroically!_ Unlike you, who won't."

"The small dragon may do as she wishes, J'zargo does not care – but we are leaving tomorrow morning," said the cat, defeated, turning and stalking back towards the hut.

Caprifexia watched the terrible excuse for a hero retreat smugly, before flapping over to the ghost and alighting on the cairn.

"You there, ghost – why are you still here?" demanded Caprifexia. "Why hasn't your spirit faded?"

The ghost turned at her words. It was impossible for Caprifexia to make out any kind of distinct features, but from the tips of ears that poked through the ghost's long silver hair it seemed that they had been an elf in life.

"What are you?" said the ghost eventually, it's simple echo of a mind clearly struggling to cope with new stimuli.

"I am Caprifexia, a dragon and the greatest hero in the multiverse," explained Caprifexia.

"A very small dragon," said the ghost sceptically.

"Yes, well… I'm young," said Caprifexia. "Now answer my question shade – why are you still here?"

"A wizard bound and trapped my spirit," said the ghost. "A hero, you say? Will you free me?"

Caprifexia didn't actually care about the ghost one way or the other, but that annoying cat had denied her self-evidently true credentials as a hero and thus a demonstration was required, something that showed just how superior she was to the foolish feline. While he indulged his pathetic mortal need for sleep, she would save this decrepit echo from its torment. _Heroically_.

And then rub his ugly mortal face in it.

"Of course," said Caprifexia. "That's what heroes do. Free people."

"_Excellent_. The anchor to the spell lies in a cave to the north," said the ghost, clapping her ethereal hands together before turning and wafting further away from the ruined hut. "Please, '_hero_,' this way."

Caprifexia flapped off after it, heading further away from the hut and out into the seemingly endless flat plane of snow. Above her the stars shone in the cloudless sky, and a green and blue aurora danced across the horizon. A mortal might have thought it bitterly cold, but Caprifexia was largely indifferent to the late autumn evening – she certainly preferred it to the summer she had arrived in; snow and ice and howling wind meant no insects.

She flew for almost ten minutes before the ghost finally arrived at a shallow, mostly snow filled depression that seemed to be the entrance to a cave or tomb. For a wizard as incredible as Caprifexia it was a simple matter to melt the hard packed frost away, revealing a worn set of stairs leading down into the earth.

To Caprifexia's continued delight she didn't see even a single spiderweb as her warelight danced over the roughly cut walls, nor any hint of any kind of creepy crawly denizen whatsoever.

"Thank the Titans, a bugless tomb – _finally_," she said.

"I make sure to keep it clean of living filth," said the friendly ghost as they descended deeper into the darkness. The natural rock slowly gave way to artificial walls of smooth, cut stone, and the water on the damp floor began to be siphoned away by channels caved into the polished floor.

"What was this place?" asked Caprifexia, idly examining an artistic embossed carving of a screaming faces on the wall. The artisan had been quite skilled, and although worn from the ravages of time, it almost looked as if someone had petrified a whole host of men and women and set them into the wall with magic.

"A laboratory," said the ghost, becoming more animated, its edges beginning to flicker a deep blood red. "In life, I was a wizard. A visionary. A _pioneer!_ But my so-called _colleagues _were cowards. They said the magic I used was 'dark.' _Fools_. There is no such thing as dark magic and light magic!"

"Mortals do love to project their ridiculous morality onto amoral mechanics of the universe," agreed Caprifexia. "They're stupid like that."

"Yes. _Yes. Mortals,_" said the friendly ghost enthusiastically. "They content themselves wither and die, as if it is some kind of badge of honour! As if giving in to entropy is something to be lauded, rather than a _weakness_ to be overcome!"

"You know, it is nice to talk to someone _reasonable _for a change," said Caprifexia, nodding along as they reached a large metal door covered in a runic lock of some kind. "Normally mortals get annoyed when I point out their never-ending shortcomings."

Before she had been largely indifferent to the ghost itself, but now she was beginning to feel good to be helping such a nice spirit find rest. Perhaps Captifexia had made one or two _small _missteps, but now she was really getting the hang of being a hero.

There were two humanoid skeletons slumped on the ground front of the door. They seemed to have died while attempting to crawl away, and each of them had an arm outstretched in the direction of the entrance. Around their necks they wore metal chains, attached to which were small trinkets in the shape of hunting-horns, and although the magic was heavily diminished, Caprifexia could feel they were enchanted.

Caprifexia swooped down and picked one up, holding it up to her warelight and casting a quick diagnostic spell on the object. The magic seemed designed to ward off blows and reduce their impact. It was quite cleverly made, for a mortal artefact, although far too degraded to be of any use.

"The small minded fools who imprisoned me – religious zealots," said the ghost venomously, gesturing to the corpses as Caprifexia dropped the necklace back to the dusty tiles. "The door is enchanted – you will need to break the ward."

"It won't be a problem," said Caprifexia, extending her mystical senses as she cast her eyes over the door. The spell matrix looked rather tricky, but she was a dragon – it wouldn't prove much of a challenge for her.

Two hours later Caprifexia snarled as the last part of the ward destabilised and the defensive magic discharged with a crackle of electricity.

"_Finally_," spat Caprifexia, blasting the now flimsy metal door off its hinges and flapping through into the next room.

"There may be Dragur," warned the friendly ghost, floating in behind her. "They usually form at loci of power, and this was my laboratory – I had many… _cadavers_."

"Well, obviously," said Caprifexia. "What sort of laboratory doesn't have cadavers? How would you practice necromancy?"

"Yes, yes! _Precisely_," said the ghost with glee. "Oh, dear Caprifexia, I am glad that it was you who found me. I had been worried that I would have to trick whatever idiot eventually stumbled upon me into helping: most people are so _squeamish_ about the more exotic areas of the art. But you are such a _sensible _young wizard."

"The _most_ sensible," agreed Caprifexia.

"I have many books in my inner sanctum that may interest you."

"I do like books," said Caprifexia, feeling even more pleased with how well her heroing was going. Caprifexia was sure that J'zargo couldn't have done half as well – _he'd _probably still be at the annoying warded door.

Well, he'd had his chance to join her, and chosen not to – he'd just have to live with not getting to look at the new books the friendly ghost was going to give her as payment for her heroism. In addition to the imminent, inevitable and crushing epiphany that Caprifexia was better than him at absolutely everything.

They proceeded onward, emerging into a large cave with a chasm running down the middle of it. To her left a waterfall cascaded down into darkness, and far below she could hear the water running away into some even deeper subterranean cavern. There was a rickety looking stone bridge spanning the gap, although it had crumbled away in places and would have been perilous for any mortal to cross on foot.

Thankfully Caprifexia was infinitely superior to mortals in virtually infinite ways, such as her ability to fly, and so she simply flapped over the deep abyss, the friendly ghost gliding along beside her.

As Caprifexia reached the other side she caught the first whiff of necromantic magic, and with a rattle of bones half a dozen skeletons, all wearing the same horn necklaces as the two bodies near the first door, emerged from the gloom, glaring at her with frosty blue eyes.

"More of the fanatics who chained me to this place," said the ghost. "Mindless undead – just waiting to be broken to your will. I can teach you how-"

"I already know necromancy," said Caprifexia, as indigo light crackled around her talons. She reached out, grabbing the mind of the nearest skeleton and breaking the remnant of will to her own. Its eyes flickered, the blue shifting into indigo as she solidified her hold on it.

"Yes, yes! _Excellent_!" cackled the friendly ghost from beside her, clapping her hands together as Caprifexia flapped out of range of the others and grinned down at the baleful, but powerless glowing eyes of the skeletons. "A good spell young one, but you're too focused on the individuals. These are unbound undead – there is no other wizard to battle for control of their minds: generalise the spell."

Caprifexia had never tried a cast necromancy spell like that before – but then again the friendly ghost seemed to be experienced, and Caprifexia had only ever covered the basics back at Blackrock Spire. Carefully, taking the ghost's tips under provisional advisement she modified her spell, releasing a blanket of indigo energy that settled over the massed skeletons.

It took longer to break the group than a single individual, but the ghost was right, without any single unified will to oppose and thwart her spell, the skeleton's feeble remnants of will flailed about aimlessly as they shuddered and shook, and gradually the skeleton's eyes shifted from azure to purple.

"You seem to have a knack for necromancy," said the friendly ghost. "You would make a fine apprentice, Caprifexia."

"Of course I would," she agreed. "I am a dragon."

"Come – my study, my _prison_ is not far from here," said the ghost drifting onward.

Caprifexia flapped after them, bringing the shambling skeletons with her as she moved into a large room lined with bookshelves. There were several tables in the centre of the room, on which lay shackled skeletons. They rattled at her, and gnashed their teeth, but were unable to do anything else.

At the far end lay a stone desk, atop which a pulsating purple gem hovered. The gem was surrounded by a runic containment array, carved into the stone and glowing with soft golden light. At it's base was another skeleton, this one totally inanimate, their bony fingers wrapped around a staff.

"My prison, and the wizard who died gaoling me" said the ghost, gesturing to it as Caprifexia alighted on the desk. "With it in place, I can only manifest this… _shade_, and only in the area directly around my tomb."

"I thought you said you were a ghost," said Caprifexia with a frown. "That I was releasing you so you could move on?"

"That was before I realised you were no small minded fool," said the shade. "That you too understandthat magic is magic, and only cretins would put shackles upon its research. That we are _wizards_, we do not limit ourselves by the morals of prattling mortals."

"You're a lich," said Caprifexia, examining the gem, which was clearly a phylactery.

It was simpler than the one that her people had kept in Blackrock Spire as a learning aid, but the essential form and spellwork was more or less the same – at least, she thought so, she didn't know the intricate details of the ritual used to make them. Given that the Lich hadn't started to go insane, it couldn't have been more than a century or two old. That was good, since insane liches couldn't help her get better at necromancy.

"Yes –_ yes. _You see, you _understand_," said the shade. "Release me, and you may take whatever books you like from my study!"

Caprifexia _did _like learning about new magic, and the friendly lich had already proven a good source of knowledge on necromancy – so they might not even be terribly written. And besides, heroes freed trapped people – didn't they? What could be more heroic than trapping a poor spell researcher who had been unfairly targeted by ridiculous superstitious mortals?

Nothing – obviously.

"One moment," said Caprifexia extending a claw and her magic, destabilising the runic trap. It wasn't hard, since all of it's defences were pointed inward, and after a moment the runes sparked and fizzled.

The shade cackled with joy, and a dark shadow launched itself from phyactery and swooped over the room, settling into one of the bound skeletons. The eyes turned a burning red, and the restraints and buckles snapped as the creature rose from the table.

"At last!" said the friendly lich, cackling gleefully as the illusion of an elven woman shimmered into being around her new frame, complete with ornate purple and gold robes. "At last! Free! Free! Oh how I have waited! How I have dreamed of what I would do to those pathetic fanatics! They will rue the day they crossed me. Rue I say!"

"So I can take whatever I like?" asked Caprifexia, gesturing to the library.

"What? Ah yes, of course," said the woman, running her hand through her dark, illusory hair and smiling widely. "As agreed, dear child. Use the knowledge well, I am sure we will meet again. But for now, goodbye, I have vengeance to exact!"

The friendly lich swooped out of the room, and her cackling laughter gradually faded into the distance.

A warm fuzzy feeling settled over Caprifexia. In the past it would have disgusted her, but after hanging around the nauseatingly sentimental Einar she was beginning to become used to the vaguely sickening sensation.

And although she was still getting to grips with being the greatest hero in the multiverse, she was pretty sure that helping more limited creatures, like friendly liches, with their problems and letting them realise their dreams was what it was all about.

Sure, the lich would eventually go insane, thought Caprifexia, but at least they'd be able to enjoy a century or two of coherent existence before that set in – that was more than what most mortals could hope for.

She returned to the surface with her new thralls in tow an hour later, having given them the task of carrying her new books. Einar and the cat were playing some kind of card game.

In the past they had invited her to play, but they had kept on cheating somehow and 'winning,' and after she had set fire to their first deck they hadn't asked her again.

"Oh hey Capri-" began Einar, before he looked up from his hand. "_Why are there a bunch of skeletons following you!?"_

"Oh these? These are my new book carriers," she said. "They were in the crypt I broke into."

"Capri, necromancy isn't technically bannedin Skyrim, but people are going to get very, very, _very _disturbed and unhappy if you walk around with a group of skeletons carrying your bags. _Especially _the undead phobic Vigilants of Stendarr we're on our way to warn," said Einar. _"_Please_,_ _please_ get rid of them. They're super creepy."

"Now that I'm back I suppose I don't really need them," said Caprifexia, waving her claw and directing them to dump the four bags full of books she had taken with the saddlebags. "I have you to carry my books already."

"How did the small dragon go in breaking the ghost's anchor?" asked J'zargo idly, placing down a card onto the flat rock they were using as a table.

"Very well," said Caprifexia. "I released them from a magical prison. Heroically, I might add."

"Good job Capri," said Einar, turning back to his cards. "You're really starting to get a hang of this."

"I know," she said smugly waving a talon and directing the undead to return back to the tomb. "And I'm much better at it than _J'zargo_."

The cat ignored her, but she found she didn't really care. Einar had once said that 'Heroism was it's own reward,' and while she still thought that was pretty silly (and that books on magic were certainly better), she found herself pleased to think that somewhere out in the cold night the friendly Lich was off living their unlife to the fullest – all thanks to her help.


	14. The Ontological Malice Epiphany

According to the map Einar had shown Caprifexia, while gripped by some strange delusion that she actually cared, the 'Hall of the Vigilants' sat alone at the base of one of the regions innumerable peaks, dozens and dozens of miles from the nearest settlement.

Again, labouring under another false impression that she was interested in mortal architecture of all things, he had also informed her that it was a long wooden affair, with a sharply sloped roof to keep snow clear in the long autumn, winter and spring months where snows were a regular, almost daily occurrence at the mountainous edge of the Pale – the large plain over which they had been trudging for the better part of a week.

To Caprifexia it seemed that building with wood was a recipe for disaster. Not only would a wooden construction struggle to last beyond a century or two without either magic or a lot of maintenance, but what if you happened to sneeze? Ridiculous.

Reality, as usual, agreed with her, and as the pink and gold light of a new day unfurled behind them a great plume of smoke became visible on the horizon. As they grew closer the charred and collapsed ruins of the headquarters itself came into view – evidence, most likely, of either careless mortal fools, or a dragon with some kind of allergy.

"Typical shoddy mortal construction," she sniffed, before turning her attention back to her book. "It's a wonder you lot haven't all been crushed under the weight of your own incompetence."

"You know, you could at least _pretend _that you care what happens to 'us lot,'" muttered Einar as he drew his horse to a stop. "And I doubt this was an accident. Damn. There must have been another group of Vampires."

"J'zargo does not think so," said the cat, peering at the figures moving in the sparkling morning light. "Black cloaks…"

The cat growled; or maybe purred, she wasn't sure.

"_Thalmor," _he said. "An entire squadron."

"What? Why would they attack the Vigilants?" said Einar. "They worship Stendarr, not Talos."

Caprifexia had no idea what a Talos was, but she knew she didn't like the Thalmor – not after Arakno the nasty elf had mildly inconvenienced her with a bolt of lightning to the chest, and nearly killed the terrible wizard J'zargo.

"We should kill them," said Caprifexia, closing her book and flapping into the air, sparks swirling around her claws.

"Capri, _no_," said Einar, grabbing her tail and very nearly getting himself incinerated as she yelped in outrage at his sheer audacity. "We're not here to start a fight with the Thalmor."

"But they're villains," she said, yanking her tail free and hissing sparks at him. "Heroes, like me, kill villains. Do I really have to keep repeating such basic facts? I know you're just a mortal, but are you _entirely _incapable of learning?"

"Yes, they are villains," said Einar in a pained voice, as if _she _was the one being unreasonable. "But just because someone is villainous doesn't always mean the best course of action is to just _summarily_ _e__xecute__ them_."

Caprifexia scrunched up her eyes, trying to figure out how that could be reconciled with what she knew about heroism.

"That doesn't make any sense," Caprifexia declared after a few moments. "Heroes kill villains; the Thaltor-"

"-Thalmor-"

"-are villains; I am a hero; therefore I should kill them."

"Capri, the Thalmor are a very large, very powerful organisation. All their troops have magical training. We are three people, and despite that vampire's fancy sword you gave me, I don't think I can take on even a single one of their soldiers reliably. We _cannot_ attack a whole squadron."

"I am not some limited mortal like you two – I am a dragon," she sniffed. "I could slay them all."

"Capri, _no,_" said Einar firmly.

Caprifexia considered overruling him, but the snooty elves probably weren't worth her time anyway. After all, she had more important heroing things to do. Like reading.

"They've seen us," said J'zargo, gesturing to the black clad figures who were moving towards them.

"Capri, change. Quickly," said Einar.

"Why?" said Caprifexia grumpily. She'd been enjoying being in her true form for the past week and a half, she didn't really want to take on her silly elfine form.

"Because these people are frothing at the mouth racists, and your elven form looks altmer," said Einar.

"It's itchy," she countered reasonably. "I don't want to."

"_Capri,_" whinged Einar.

Caprifexia grumbled, but eventually transformed, shifting her brilliant ebony scales into her long coat, dusky skin, midnight black hair, and long pointed horns. Her eyes, however, still stayed the same luminous orange, which irked her. What she wouldn't have given to get her hands on a proper draconic book of magic to find out what – very minor – error she was making.

"Alright," said Einar. "Capri listen, you have to pretend like you're in charge. Like we're your inferiors."

"'Pretend?'"

"Definitely don't say anything about the Elder Scroll," continued Einar. "Don't mention the vampires either – we're just passing through, OK?"

"I am a _black_ dragon," scoffed Caprifexia. "My people invented deception."

"Please, _please _don't screw this up," muttered Einar as the haughty looking elves closed in on them, hands on the hilts of their pointy metal sticks.

Most of the nasty elves were wearing golden plate armour and silly looking helms, over which were pulled black cloaks. Leading them was a woman in hooded robes similar to the ones that the nasty elf Arakno had been wearing, and in her hand was a metal staff capped with an azure-gemstone that shone with obvious enchantment.

"Greetings sister," said the elven woman, naturally addressing Caprifexia and pursing her lips ever so slightly at Einar and J'zargo. "What brings you to this frozen wasteland?"

Caprifexia considered for a moment, before opening her mouth to spin an expert lie. "I am an insur_-_"

"Wizards from Winterhold College," said J'zargo urgently, butting in where he wasn't wanted and completely ruining her convincing backstory of being an insurance sales-dragon. "We are passing through."

The elvish wizard gave her a funny look. "I see…"

"They're my minions," explained Caprifexia, quickly improvising a more believable cover from the cat's shambolic attempt to lie. "They carry my bags, make my clothes soup – you know, the usual."

The nasty elven woman raised an eyebrow, before shrugging and turning back to the smouldering wreckage. "Do you know anything about the destruction of the ape's hall?"

"You didn't do it?" asked Einar.

The wizard wrinkled her nose at him before looking back at Caprifexia. "No," she said. "It was like this when we arrived earlier this morning – we had been hoping for at least a night beneath a roof, but instead we found ruins overrun with reanimated corpses. Strange, to be sure."

"Vampires?" said Caprifexia.

Einar nudged her irritatingly with his boot, but she ignored him.

The elven wizard cocked her head to one side. "No. Not vampires," she said. "Unless they were already entirely sated before the attack – which, given how far we are from any settlements, seems unlikely. More likely a necromancer – the Vigilants _were _rather opposed to the study, after all. _Fools_."

"A necromancer?" said Caprifexia, somewhat surprised that there had been another apart from the nice Lich in the vicinity. They were in the middle of nowhere, and not that many mortals knew magic. Then again, she knew coincidences happened all the time; she wasn't some ridiculous mortal who saw causation in every correlation.

"It appears so. If they weren't just apes I might investigate, but I have more pressing tasks. Have a good day sister," said the Thalmor elf, turning and sauntering off without so much as a backward glance.

"What are the Thalmor doing here?" said Einar as soon as they were out of elven earshot. "Do they really expect us to believe they just happened to show up as the Vigilants had their hall burnt down?"

"Perhaps they too are after the Elder Scroll," said J'zargo.

"But how would they possibly know it was here?" said Einar. "What – you think that the Thalmor are working with the vampires? They may be bastards, but I don't think even they'd stoop that low."

"They attempted to kill J'zargo," said J'zargo. "Jz'argo would put nothing past them."

For once, Caprifexia was inclined to agree with the heroically-deficient cat.

"We should kill them," she reiterate, reasonably.

"Capri, _no_," said Einar, unreasonably.

"We should see what they do," said J'zargo, opting for a typically less decisive option. "If they begin looking for the tomb in the foothills then we will know for sure what they are after."

"We should check out the Vigilant Hall in the meantime," said Einar.

"You're right, maybe they had some interesting books," said Caprifexia.

"Or there might be, you know, _survivors_," said Einar.

"Ah yes – that," said Caprifexia, nodding quickly and heroically. "Survivors. _Obviously_ that's what I meant we should look for first."

She cleared her throat.

"But keep an eye out for books anyway."

As the nasty elves, who it apparently _wasn't _heroic to kill, had said, the smouldering ruins were indeed lousy with wandering undead.

Unlike the ones in the tomb, these undead had most of their flesh and clothing remaining – although they shared the same metal trinkets slung around their necks. Also, curiously, their eyes glowed red instead of either blue, or the purple that her own dominated creature's had had.

As they approached the ruins creature's eyes snapped toward them in unison, and J'zargo and Einar froze as the creatures began to shamble toward them.

"_Shit_," breathed Einar, fumbling for his new enchanted sword that Caprifexia had given him in the hope he wouldn't be quite so useless going forward. "Whoever did this is still controlling-"

"Caprifexia!" said the thralls in a chorus of groans and broken windpipes. "How are you! I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon."

"Capri, what the _fuck?" _whispered Einar.

"Friendly Lich?" said Caprifexia. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, exacting vengeance of course," laughed the Lich's thralls. "Although I'm not _here _anymore. I'm headed down to one of my old haunts in Cyrodiil. Just keeping a hold on this puppets in case anymore of those _fools _were out. Getting to near the edge of my range though, so I won't be able to chat long. Had a chance to read any of the books yet?"

"You killed these people?" said Caprifexia, a strange tightness beginning to grow in her chest as she took in the bloodless faces and blank expressions of the recently deceased, and now dominated Vigilants of Standing, or whatever they were called.

"Yes my dear, do keep up," laughed the Lich's puppets.

"But- but that's _evil_," yelled Caprifexia.

"_Really_," scoffed the Lich's minions. "I thought you were wiser than that young one. 'Evil' does not exist, you yourself pointed out how mortals have the ridiculous tendency to ascribe their shallow 'morality' to the amoral mechanics of the universe."

The world seemed to spin around Caprifexia as the reality that the Lich, against all appearances, had not actually been friendly hit her. And more than that, these people were dead, and, at least partially, because she had _somehow,_ against all conceivable odds, been tricked into releasing an actually-not-very-friendly-at-all-Lich.

"You're not a friendly Lich at all, you're a _villain_!" growled Caprifexia, her eyes flashing purple as she summoned up her will and wove it into a spell. "_Dominatus!"_

The corpses froze as her domination spell rammed into the 'minds' of Lich's thralls. She felt the Lich's linked consciousness, which stretched off to the south, recoil in surprise, and their control slipped.

The corpse's eyes flashed purple for an instant, before the Lich rallied their focus and the eyes turned crimson once again as they began to rush forward.

Fire burst from beside her as J'zargo attacked, and Caprifexia grit her teeth as the Necromancer resetablished their control totally, their greater experience – if not magnificence – proving too much for even Caprifexia's prodigal-but-admittedly-somewhat-inexperienced ability with the discipline to overcome.

Beside her Einar drew his shiny new enchanted blade, which they had taken from the lizard-vampire's corpse back near Windhelm and stepped in front of her, as if somehow _she _was the one who needed protecting.

Caprifexia was just about to abandon her necromantic spell and switch to more directly destructive methods when the Lich changed tactics, releasing their hold on the thralls and seizing the psychic connection that Caprifexia had made in her attack and following it back to the young dragon's mind.

Caprifexia had never actually had a real psychic duel with anyone before – the magic being used to initiate them from a distance being, for the moment, quite far beyond her abilities. Such duels tended to be zero-sum games in that you either you won, or you had your mind shredded, that both parties became immobilised and therefore vulnerable, and, generally, they gave the advantage to the defender because of the sheer energy and focus needed to simultaneously maintain the connection and overcome the opponent.

In retrospect she realised it had possibly not been the best of ideas to make herself vulnerable to such magic by opening her mind and attempting to dominate another necromancer's thralls.

While Caprifexia might not have ever actually been attacked in such a manner, she did, however, know the theory for how to fight it.

Step one: seek to establish defences around your mind. Step two: attempt to trap your attacker. Step three: turn the attack around and attempt to dominate, or rip whatever secrets you could from their mind before destroying it.

Easy, she hoped.

Caprifexia focused on visualising a barrier around her mind, but had barely raised even a feeble defence when the Lich's attack rammed through and into her consciousness. Caprifexia's anger turned to fear as she fell back deeper into her mind, and out in the real world she felt her body seize up.

_A pity,_ came the voice of the not-so-friendly Lich, projected into her voice as Caprifexia began to struggle desperately against the overpowering tide of her enemy's consciousness. _I really thought you __could be… well now, what is _this_?_

To her horror she felt the Lich beginning to rifle through her memories, and hurled herself against the Lich's presence. She failed to make any headway, and gasped, falling to her knees as she was driven deeper into her own mind.

"Capri?" Einar shouted, his voice seeming dull as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her in one of his typically useless attempts to help. _"Capri?"_

'_W__hat's this? Fascinating. Y__ou really _are _a dragon, aren't you?' _thought the Lich, turning over a few of Caprifexia's more recent memories – of the trip across the Pale. '_But not a Nirnian dragon, you're… "Azerothian."'_

The undead followed the strands of memories, and Caprifexia suddenly found herself as a tiny hatchling, knocking her way out of her egg back in Blackrock spire.

_So young,_ mused the Lich as Caprifexia looked up at the memory of her mother, the giant Sinestra smiling down lovingly at her. _Curious, perhaps you're not a total write off-_

Then Caprifexia in her memory swivelled her neck, peering out over the hatchery to where several Faceless were tending to the hatching eggs of her brothers and sisters.

The Lich's mind recoiled from the Voidborn monsters, a deep, primal terror leaking through their mental link as Caprifexia felt the undead's grip on her loosen.

Of course, Caprifexia thought, she might have been protected from the power of the Void by her general amazingness, and Spark, but the nasty Lich had no such defences. Any memory of the Void acted like a portal for the corrosive energy, and through her first memories the Lich had just stared directly at a Faceless. That alone they would likely recover from eventually, but Caprifexia had far darker things in her memories than just the visage of a Faceless…

With a mental snarl Caprifexia rallied her will and smacked the panicking Lich away, wrenching back control of her mind and summoning up another memory. The memory of when she had first realised that her Planeswalker power was taking her through the Void, when she had come face to face with an Old God, and forced it on the Lich.

The Lich mentally screamed in existential horror, and tried to withdraw from Caprifexia's mind. But the small dragon didn't let it go and grabbed the link, holding it firm as she went on the offensive, ramming her will through the link and into the petrified and spasming mind of the Lich – some dozen miles to the south.

So entirely was the undead focused on the unspeakable horror of the raw visage of the Old God that the villainous undead didn't even seem to notice her presence as Caprifexia began to rip and tear into the creature's consciousness.

Fragments of depravity flitted through Caprifexia's mind as she wrenched the villain's mind apart: experiments on living mortals; an all consuming lust for power; rituals that would have made even her father blanch, Caprifexia destroyed them all. Once she would have savoured the besting of her foe, carefully extracted each and every piece of useful information from the creature's mind and revelled in her own objective superiority, but as the images flashed through her mind and she methodically destroyed the monster's mind the only thing Caprifexia felt was sick.

When she finally released the last dregs of the Lich's consciousness and centred on her own body once-more Einar was still shaking her, and J'zargo had also crouched beside her, a look of concern on his feline face. Beyond them the bodies of the Vigilants were inert and still, only a few of them charred from J'zargo's magefire.

"Capri?" said Einar.

"I'm OK," she said weakly. "It's dead – or as good as."

"Thank the Divines," said Einar. "J'zargo said you were under mental attack."

"Why did the small dragon know it was a Lich?" asked the Cat.

The tightness in Caprifexia's chest grew, and she felt her eyes begin to itch as the images of cruelty flashed through her mind and she looked out over the now still bodies of the Vigilants.

"I thought they were a friendly Lich," said Caprifexia hoarsely, putting a hand to her suddenly aching chest.

"'_Friendly Lich?'" _said Einar in disbelief.

"I met them last night – they were the spirit I set free," she said in a small voice. "The one who was imprisoned-"

"You didn't say anything about a fucking _Lich!?" _yelled Einar.

"You weren't interested, you were playing your silly card-game! Probably cheating at it like you normally do," she sniffed, her eyes beginning to prickle unpleasantly as the memories of what the creature she had freed had done played over and over in her mind.

"Capri, these people are _dead _because of you," said Einar, becoming even more hysterical. "Doesn't that bother you even a _little?"_

"How was I supposed to know that the Lich was evil!?" yelled Caprifexia back angrily, tears spilling from her glowing orange eyes. "How could I have possibly predicted they would do something like this!?"

"Because all Liches are evil!" yelled J'zargo.

"That's Lichist," said Caprifexia. "Just what I'd expect from a hairy-"

"Listen to J'zargo, you small, angry, irresponsible, and _deranged_ dragon," said J'zargo. "The rituals involved in transforming oneself into a Lich are disgusting and vile, the sacrifice of sentient beings, the mutilation of one's soul-"

"How was I supposed to know that!?" said Caprifexia.

"Because the small dragon claims to be a _wizard,_" said J'zargo. "Wizards should at least knowwhat Liches are!"

"I do know what Liches are!" protested Caprifexia. "And I'm a better Wizard than you, you absurd looking cat!"

"J'zargo is not a cat-"

"Capri, if you knew what Liches were, why by Akatosh did you release one!?" said Einar, interrupting J'zargo before he could pointlessly start an argument about his feline nature yet again.

"I thought it was the heroic thing to do; they were trapped, heroes free trapped people," said Caprifexia, feeling very small. "I… I didn't know."

There was something uncomfortably wrong with her chest, like it was being squeezed in a giant hand. She cleared her throat, but it only seemed to get worse. Was this the 'guilt' that Einar had talked about? When someone had done something they regretted?

She hadn't been the one to kill these people, that had been the actually-not-entirely-friendly Lich. But she had been the one to free said Lich. At the time it had seemed the heroic thing to do, _incredibly_ heroic even, but now she wasn't so sure…

"Capri," said Einar in a cold voice he'd only ever used once before with her. "You fucked up."

"How was I supposed to know the Lich was a villain?" she said again, burying her face in her squishy faux-mortal hands. "How could I have known they were going to do this?"

"Because they were a horrible undead monster," he said in an exasperated voice.

They were dead because of her. Because of her. _Because of her_.

"I didn't know! I didn't know they were evil!" said Caprifexia with a sob, a trickle of moisture running down her cheek. "I thought I was being heroic by releasing them! I wouldn't have done it if I knew this would happen! I'm… I'm _sorry_."

She looked down at the ground.

Einar sighed, and rubbed his face.

"The small dragon thought that releasing a _Lich_ was heroic!?" yelled J'zargo pulling at his ridiculous fluffy ears.

"I didn't know!" said Caprifexia, her voice cracking as she put her face in her hands and began to sob.

"_T__he small dragon__ thought that releasing a _Lich_ was heroic!?"_ repeated the Cat, his voice rising another irritating octave.

"J'zargo, enough," said Einar.

"No, not _enough_," yelled the cat, standing and pointing at the ruins and the corpses. "These people are _dead _because of her. Because of her reckless arrogance! There is a reason that ethics are a core subject at the college, because the power that wizards' wield means they cannot afford to abuse their power, nor afford to be so… _idiotically thoughtless_."

"I didn't mean for this to happen!" wailed Caprifexia, feeling her stomach roil as what she now was fairly certain was shame and guilt crashed down upon her.

"Your feelings are irrelevant-"

Caprifexia turned the to side and vomited, her fishy breakfast washing over the rubble.

"J'zargo, she's a kid, and she knows she fucked up," said Einar, rubbing her back as she heaved once more. "She was raised by monsters – she's doing her best."

"You're defending her?" said J'zargo. "After _everything _she has done? All the destruction and harm she's caused? She _killed _the saviour of Nirn!"

"Because of a situation _I_ put her in," said Einar angrily. "And if you'd actually accompanied her into the tomb, like you were supposed to, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Don't blame this on J'zargo!" hissed the cat. "_He _didn't think that a Lich was somehow not a being of total evil!_He_ didn't release them! _He_ isn't a total fucking idiot!"

The Cat turned and stormed out of the ruins, sparks cascading from his claws, as Caprifexia battled to get her pathetically emotional mortal-like outburst back under control.

"Capri, I know you didn't mean for this to happen," said Einar. "But you made a very big mistake, and a lot of good people are dead now because of it. Not abstractly, not indirectly, but as a direct result of your actions."

"What do I do?" asked Caprifexia, wiping her leaking eyes. "How do I make this right?"

"You can't," said Einar. "You're going to have to live with this for the rest of your life."

"I'm sorry," said Caprifexia, hunching her shoulders as her throat seemed to close up. "I won't let anymore Liches trick me, I'll see through villain's plots; I'll do better, I promise."

Einar was silent for a while, before he nodded.

"Come on," he said, standing and offering her a hand up. "You might not able to undo your actions, but you can at least help me give these poor souls a proper burial."

Caprifexia didn't know why mortals insisted on putting their dead in holes, but didn't complain as she helped Einar drag the ex-thralls out of the ruins and begin carving out sections of the hillside with magic. It felt like a futile gesture, but if it meant something to mortals then perhaps it wasn't entirely pointless.

They might have been fleeting, irrational, ugly, infuriating, and usually wrong, but mortal lives did have value, they did have worth. It wasn't fair that these 'Vigilants' had died before their time, and there was no point denying it, it was her fault.

She might have been a dragon, a member of the most magnificent, intelligent, and generally amazing species in the multiverse, but it seemed even perfect beings could make mistakes – even her.


End file.
